nil 



Mrs* Bumpstead-Ldgh 



HARRY TAMES SMITH 



PS 3537 
11466 




'VTUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th St., New York 



The following is a copy of the playbill of the fij-st per- 
formance of " Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh ", at the Lyceum 
Theatre, New York. 

Week beginning Monday Evening, April 3, 191 1 
HARRISON GREY FISKE 

PRESENTS 

MRS. FISKE 

And the Manhattan Company 

in 

MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 

r 

BY 

HARRY JAMES SMITH 

CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Justin Rawson Charles Harbnry 

Miss Rawson, his sister Kate Lester 

Geoffrey Rawson, his younger son Malcolm 

Duncan 
Anthony Rawson, his elder son. .Douglas J. Wood 

Stephen Leavitt Paul Scar don 

Mrs. Stephen Leavitt Veda McEvers 

Peter Swallow Henry Di.vey 

Kitson Cyril Young 

Mrs. De Salle Florine Arnold 

Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh. Mrs. Fiske 

Violet De Salle .Kathlene MacDonell 

Nina Helena Van Brugh 

Scene: Living room in Rawson's Long Island 
Country House. 

Between Acts I and II, one hour is supposed to 

elapse; between Acts II and III, ten minutes. 

3 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Justin Rawson 

Miss Rawson His sister 

Geoffrey Rawson His younger son 

Anthony Rawson His elder son 

Leavitt 

Mrs. Leavitt ^ 

Peter Swallow 

KlTSON 

Mrs. de Salle 

Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh (Adelaide)..//^ elder 

daughter 

Violet de Salle Adelaide's younger sister 

Nina 



Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh 



ACT I 



Scene: Living room in Justin Rawson's Long 
Island Country house. Late summer after 
breakfast of a sunny day. The apartment is 
handsomely and choicely furnished, with a sug- 
gestion in everything of dignity and family 
pride. A very wide porch door opens upon a 
broad veranda, center, and beyond the veranda 
is seen an Italian garden and a glimpse of sand 
dunes and ocean. Hollyhocks look in at the 
low window, wide open, Left. Betzveen the 
window and the porch door is a staircase, and 
close to the staircase a door admitting to 
domestic offices. Right, another door connect- 
ing witli the library; a private telephone on the 
wall near this door. 

When the curtain rises Anthony and Nina 
are having an intimate little chat, Anthony 
half sitting on the edge of the table Rigid, and 
Nina leaning as enticingly as she knozvs how 
on the handle of a carpet-szveeper. 

(Anthony is a good-looking, polished # fellow of 
twenty-seven, but perhaps you would not trust 
him. Just nozu he is whispering something 
zvhccdling and pleasant in the girl's ear. She 
listens zvith sparkling eyes, roguishly.) 

Nina. {Standing azvay with a shriek of laughter) 
Oh, Mr. Anthony ! Aren't you an article ! 

5 



6 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Anthony. {Demurely) Why, what have I said 
now ? 

Nina. {With giggles) Oh, you imp! {Feigns 
to slap him) I never knew the beat of you for 
reeling off nonsense. 

Anthony. You know very well every word I've 
said is solemn truth ! {Stepping towards her) 

Nina. {Gaily) You expect me to believe that? — 

Anthony. {Feigning jealousy) Oh, you'd be- 
lieve it quick enough if Mr. Geoffrey said it. 

Nina. (Archly) He ain't that kind. Mr. 
Geoffrey's rather slow about some things. Very 
different from you. 

Anthony. {Aware of his own charms) Now! 
Now! 

Nina. Well, it may be a break for me to say so, 
seein' as he's your own brother, Mr. Anthony; but 
I never could stomach what you might call the 
farmer type ! Even when they're dressed up, seems 
like you can always smell the barn on them. (Kitson 
has entered l. and after a disapproving look at the 
tzvo, begins a minute inspection of the corners of the 
apartment. Nina resumes a pretense of zvork but 
continues) Give me cowboys on the stage; but 
don't let 'em get too close to me in real life ! 

Anthony. {Patronizingly) Lost something, 
Kitson ? 

Kitson. {Who is a highly self-respecting family 
retainer, with a mournful manner) No, sir. {Re- 
sumes inspection) 

Anthony. You seem very busy. Might I in- 
quire what you're doinsr? 

Kitson. (Sadly) My duty, sir. 

Nina. (Pertly) Mr. Kitson always goes the 
rounds like that every morning, to see I don't leave 
out anything. 

Kitson. (Bristling) And good enough reason 
for it, I may say ! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 7 

Nina. Yes, indeed ! Don't know how you'd earn 
your wages if it wasn't for that. (Puts carpet- 
sweeper off Right) 

(Kitson draws himself up for a tremendous re- 
joinder, but recollects himself in the presence 
of Anthony, saying only in a sad voice:) 

Kitson. There was a time when housemaids was 
taught to know their place. 

Anthony. (Laughingly) There was a time, 
Kitson — at least I'd like to think so — when you were 
rather less of a meddlesome old nuisance than you 
are now. 

Kitson. You would not speak so to me, sir, in the 
presence of Mr. Rawson. 

Anthony. Which reminds me, have you seen 
my father around anywhere? 

Kitson. I saw him going towards the stables, 
sir, just now. 

Anthony. Looking for Geoffrey — of course ! 
There may be need of me out there ! (Confidentially 
to Nina) See you later? (Exit by porch) 

Kitson. (With authority) What's that he said 
to you, Nina? 

Nina. What's zvhat he said to me? 

Kitson. — Under his breath. 

Nina. What'll you give me if I tell you? 

Kitson. (Cor.imandingly) I asked you a ques- 
tion. 

Nina. (Confidentially) He said: "Don't tell 
Kitson." 

Kitson. (With szvelling indignation) You think 
you're very fine and clever, don't you, young lady? 
You think you can put on all the smart airs you 
like, don't you? And why? W r hy? Just because 
you're letting Anthony make a fool of you. 



8 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Nina. (Irritated) When anybody makes a fool 
of me, I'll run straight and tell you, Kitson! 

Kitson. No need ! I've got two eyes in my head. 
I've seen you half a dozen times together in the 
last three days, whispering and laughing ; and I tell 
you now, I don't want to see it again. 

Nina. Well, don't look ! 

Kitson. You'd ought to be ashamed of yourself, 
and him engaged to be married, and his young lady 
here in this very house ! 

Nina. Well, that's not my lookout, is it? J 
didn't bring Miss de Salle here, did I ; nor her family 
neither, did I ? And if Mr. Anthony stops now and 
again to exchange a word with me, in a friendly 
way, I for one can't see no harm in it. 

Kitson. (Solemnly) You look out for that man. 

(Justin's voice, very angry is heard outside.) 

Nina. My goodness ! (Dashes up to porch door 
and glances out) It's Mr. Geoffrey now ! He's 
catchin' it for fair this time! — Me for the woods! 
(Exits hastily) 

Justin. (Speaking off stage) No! No! You're 
wrong — I say you're entirely wrong. — It is you who 
choose to take my words as referring to the whole 
question of your attitude toward Anthony. I had 
no wish to bring that matter up at the present time. 
(Enter Justin and Geoffrey. Anthony is seen 
follozving) For once, I hoped that you would con- 
sent to listen to me quietly and reasonably without 
flying into a passion. 

Geoffrey. (Not ruffled) Am I really in a 
passion, Dad? 

(Enter Anthony who stands by deferentially.) 

Justin. Without flying into a passion, I said, or 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 9 

assuming this air of outraged virtue which ex- 
asperates me to the last degree. (He storms up and 
down the room while Geoffrey, more puzzled than 

disturbed, watches him, arms folded) 

(Justin Rawson is an American gentleman of 
somewhat advanced middle-age; dignity and 
consciousness of rare are bespoken in his every 
movement Geoffrey, his younger son, is a 
robust, outdoor fellow of twenty-four, not at 
all at case amid these repressive surroundings. 
His attire suggests the stock-raiser) 

Anthony. (Stepping up with anxious coun- 
tenance) Father, don't take it so much to heart. I 
am sure Geoffrey meant nothing by it ! 

Justin. (To Anthony) No. Nothing at all! 
Nothing more than he always means by his jeal- 
ous, suspicious, unbrotherly behavior toward you. 
(Anthony makes a deprecatory gesture) You are 
with us for a weeks' stay, onlv. I insist that Geof- 
frey, who has nothing to do — (Geoffrey makes 
gesture of protest) — who has nothing, I say, to do, 
shall exert himself toward making your visit pleas- 
urable. 

Anthony. But, with a few exceptions, Geoffrey 
has been uniformly considerate, indeed 

Justin. (Cutting him off) I do not think the 
less of you, Anthony, for your readiness to defend 
him. But you are too generous. Be so kind as to 
leave us. 

Anthony. But, Father! — I really — (He is dis- 
missed zvith a gesture, and exits to the library 
silently. Justin suddenly perceives Kitson, who 
has the air of having heard nothing) 

Justin. (In controlled voice) Kitson! 

Kitson. Yes, sir. 

Justin. You may go. 

Kitson. Yes, sir. (Exits Left) 



io MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Justin. And now, sir — now you may tell me why 
you are always making occasions to slight your 
brother. Is it because he's three years your senior? 
Is it because he has devoted himself assiduously to 
his business and is already making a name for him- 
self ; while you have been a rolling stone, now here, 
now in the West, agriculturist, cowboy, sheep raiser, 
gentleman-farmer — anything and everything except 
a steady, industrious, conservative citizen ! — Look at 
Anthony ! His gcod habits, his manners, his respect 
— I might say, reverence — for his elders ! Do they 
not make you blush for shame? (A pause) So 
for once you have nothing to say for yourself ? 

Geoffrey. (Mildly) No, nothing — except that 
for the life of me I can't see what I've done to 
make you so angry. 

Justin. Angry, sir, — angry ! (Jumps to his feet 
with outraged manner) 

Geoffrey. You suggested that I go for a ride 
with Miss de Salle. I said I had rather not. That 
was all. 

Justin. It does not occur to you that you have 
any obligations either toward your brother or cur 
English guests. 

Geoffrey. I should think it w r as Anthony's place 
to go with her. 

Justin. You are perfectly well- aware that 
Anthony doesn't know how to ride. 

Geoffrey. I'd be glad to teach him. 

Justin. You are the animal-man in this family. 
Anthony's career has occupied his attention while 
you have been riding your precious bronchos in 
New Mexico. 

Geoffrey. (Vehemently) Yes, and God knows 
I'd be there now if you hadn't asked me to come 
home. Do you think I zvanted to leave the ranch? 
(His face glows with longing and memory) Oh! 
That's real! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH n 

Justin. I wished you to come back and live like 
a civilized member of society. 

Geoffrey. It's no use. 

Justin. You are certainly right, so long as you 
insist on being sullen and offish and discourteous. 

Geoffrey. (Earnestly) I give you my word, 
Dad, I did not mean to be discourteous. (He is 
embarrassed) 

Justin. (Peremptorily) Your reason, then, for 
refusing to ride with Miss de Salle ! She loves 
riding. 

Geoffrey. (Much embarrassed) I was busy. 

Justin. (With an outburst) Busy! With your 
pigs, I presume. Does it mean nothing to you that 
Anthony has chosen for his wife 

(Enter by porch, Miss Rawson, hastily.) 

Miss Rawson. Justin! Justin! (Indicating 
garden) Mrs. Leavitt! 

(Miss Rawson, an elderly lady of distinguished 
demeanor, is the image of caste-pride.) 

Justin. (Impatiently) Mrs. Leavitt! Mrs. 
Leavitt's in New York. 

Miss Rawson. She came back last night. — 
Please, Brother ■ 

Justin. I beg your pardon. (To Geoffrey) 
Be so good as to come into the study. (Exit Geof- 
frey, Right) This matter's not settled yet. No ! 
Not by any means. (Exit Justin, Right, Miss 
Rawson goes up to meet Mrs. Leavitt, a young 
zvotnan of charming, rather effusive manner, hatless, 
in informal morning dress) 

Miss Rawson. It's nice to have you back again! 
Was it very dreadful in the city? 

Mrs. Leavitt. (With a gesture of stifling) 



12 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Absolutely indescribable ! Oh, it is heavenly to be 
home again ! 

Miss Rawson. (Pressing bell) I was so anxious 
to have you return before the departure of our 
delightful guests. They are to stay until next week. 

Mrs. Leavitt. I am wild to meet the future Mrs. 
Anthony. 

Mrs. Rawson. You will love her. (To Nina 
who has entered) Nina, please tell our guests that 
Mrs. Leavitt is here. (Exit Nina by stairs) Yes, 
and her family too ! Mrs. de Salle, a dignified 
woman, silent, keeping much to herself, yet not with- 
out a certain originality — some would call it ec- 
centricity ; — and Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh, the older 
daughter, who quite answers to my ideal of an 
English lady, — a little formal, a little 

Mrs. Leavitt. Formal! (Rising in dismay) 
Oh, dear! What will she think of me for calling 
so informally ! (A gesture from Miss Rawson re- 
assures her) Well I must confess to you privately — 
Miss Rawson, I ran away from home. 

Miss Rawson. Ran away? 

Mrs. Leavitt. (Gaily) Yes. A fugitive. I 
was having cold chills. 

Miss Rawson. What do you mean ? 

Mrs. Leavitt. (In lowered voice) You know 
we are planning a simple little memorial at Wood- 
lawn for Mr. Leavitt's mother; and this morning 
by the first train — Oh, quite without being asked to 
come, I assure you, — who should turn up but this 
strange creature; Swallow, his name is, — represent- 
ing some tombstone firm in Hoboken, New Jersey ! — 
He appeared before the gates of Willowfields at 
nine A. M. and evidently intends staying until the 
crack of doom. 

Justin. (Heard off Right) Wrong! Wrong! 
Radically, essentially, totally wrong ! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 13 

Mrs. Leavitt. (Startled) Goodness, what's 
that ? 

Miss Rawson. (Trying to explain) It's only 
Justin. He does not always find — Geoffrey 

Mrs. Leavitt. (Consolingly) Yes, I know so 
well ! Many things must be hard for both of you ! 
Yet after all, you have much to be thankful for ! 
Anthony is doing so very well. 

Miss Rawson. Anthony is a Rawson! — Well, 
Nil ai (io Nina who has re-entered by stairs) 

Nina. Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh presents her com- 
pliments. Madam, and says they will be down 
directly. (Exit) 

Mrs. Leavitt. Bumpstead-Leigh ! what a fas- 
cinating name — it seems to mean so much ! And I 
understand the Reverend Algernon Bumpstead- 
Leigh is one of those British younger sons who has 
entered the Church and is directly in line for 
Bishop's orders and the House of Lords. I read 
all about it last night in the Evening Chronicle. 

Miss Rawson. (Horrified) The Evening 
Chronicle ! 

Mrs. Leavitt. Yes, didn't you know ? There was 
fully half a column on the society page. 

Miss Rawson. Oh, no ! It is too horrible ! 
Must our personal affairs be hawked and peddled 
about the streets? The thought makes me ill! 

Mrs. Leavitt. (Disconcerted) Oh, but you 
mustn't let it trouble you so, dear lVfiss Rawson. 
There was nothing more than a hint of the engage- 
ment; the tone and all was perfectly inoffensive. 

Miss Rawson. It isn't that; oh, it isn't that! 
No, it's the idea of having our family connected in 
any way, shape, or manner with the vulgar, sensa- 
tional press of the present day. 

Mrs. Leavitt. Yes, yes, I understand. 

Miss Rawson. We must not let a word of this 
wretched affair get to the de Salles. They are even 



14 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

more conservative than we. Why. until they knew 
absolutely the origin and standing of Anthony's 
family, they would not think of ratifying the engage- 
ment. It was for that reason they consented to 
cross the ocean with him. 

Mrs. Leavitt. Oh, I see. And of course, they 
are satisfied. 

Miss Rawson. Yes. They are satisfied. So are 
we. Everything about them pleases me. The 
Rectory occupied by the Bumpstead-Leighs in 
Trumpington-on-Swell is restored from an old 
monastery of the early Tudor period. From attic 
to cellar it is filled with old oak panelling, ancient 

plate, ancestral portraits 

-. Leavitt. Of the Bumpstead-Leighs or the 
de Salles? 

Miss Rawson. The de Salles are American. 

Mrs. Leavitt. American ! 

Miss Rawson. Yes, in origin ; that is one cause 
for my being especially drawn to them ; yet the name 
is Norman-French — that means something. 

Mrs. Leavitt. What a fascinating blend ! 

Miss Rawson. Yes, the girls were born in this 
country — Washington, I think — but they have al- 
ways lived on the other side ; educated at the most 
exclusive pensions; speaking several languages; 
combining, one might say, a moral heritage which is 
truly American with the charm and culture of the 
older civilization. 

Mrs. Leavitt. How well you put it, Miss Raw- 
son ! 

Miss Rawson. If I do, it is only because I feel 
so deeply what it all means in this day and age. 
The typical American young woman of to-day, w T ith 
her manners that are anything but manners, her 
bold forward speech, her smartness, her slang, — 
downright illiteracy, that is w r hat I call it ; and as 
for family, it has all but perished from the face of 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGK 15 

the earth! (Checking her own vehemence) Oh, I 
know I am quite out of date ; the world has changed 
— I do not say gone forward — since I was a girl ; 
but there are a few things I insist upon, and I shall 
continue to insist upon them as long as I can insist 
upon anything. Family heads the list! 

Mrs. Leavitt. Then no wonder you welcome the 
de Salles. 

Miss Rawson. And for more than one reason. 
Anthony was truly impressed by the home life of the 
Bumpstead-Leighs. The devotion of Mrs. Bump- 
stead-Leigh to her husband is very beautiful. And, 
of course, though I do not care to insist upon the 
point, it does mean something to us, that in Trump- 
ington-oh- Swell Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh is the ac- 
knowledged social leader. So now you can under- 
stand why we welcome the de Salles and regard 
the union as one I may say peculiarly happy and 
suitable. 

(In the course of this last speech Mrs. Bumpstead- 
Leigh has descended the stairs as far as the 
landing and has stood there, unseen by the other 
ladies, ■until the suitable moment should come 
for interrupting their conversation. She con- 
cludes that the moment has now come and 
descends the remaining stairs zviih cordial, 
vivid, yet slightly patronizing eagerness. Mrs. 
Bumpstead-Leigh (Adelaide) is an exceed- 
ingly British lady still in her early thirties. She 
is handsome, polished, radiant, electrical, 
mental; and there is a born domination, a con- 
cealed aggressiveness in her demeanor which 
suggests that it zvould not be desirable nor per- 
haps quite safe to antagonise her. You rec- 
ognize her instantly as a leader, a commander. 
Gracious, affable always, you sense the iron 
underneath.) 



16 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. (In her most voluble British manner) 
Oh, I do love your American way of paying calls 
in the morning. It is so deliciously informal, so 
en fanullc! — or perhaps, I err in thinking so? 
Surely it is not the usual, the prescrihed hour. — Yet 
why not? Why should not one devote these 
brightest and choicest moments of the day to social 
intercourse. I do not know a fitter use for them. 
(Greeting Mrs. Leavitt with a warmth which yet 
does not lack condescension) With Mrs. Leavitt, 
I am sure, 1 need not insist upon a formal introduc- 
tion. I have heard so many charming things of you 
from your amiable husband, Mr. Leavitt. I am 
truly charmed to make your acquaintance. 

Mrs Leavitt. (Overwhelmed) Perfectly — de- 
lighted ! 

Adelaide. (To Miss Rawson) I am so very, 
very sorry to precede Mamma and Violet. I only 
consented to come down upon their express promise 
to follow directly. 

Miss Rawson. (To Mrs. Leavitt) Violet was 
off for a long tramp, all by herself, before breakfast. 
(To Adelaide) 1 do hope that she was not over- 
fatigued. 

Adelaide. Oh, no — not at all, and so very kind 
of you to think of it. Violet is like all our English 
girls, in her love for the free, outdoor life. But 
your morning sun over here — I don't know I am 
sure how to account for it — seems to radiate a 
peculiarly burning, exhausting heat. — I wonder, 
might there be some scientific explanation for that? 

(Anthony has just entered from porch. He hastily 
scrutinizes the group and seems dissatisfied.) 

Anthony. How do you do. Mrs. Leavitt! 
(Coming to her) 
Mrs. Leavitt. My dear Anthony! How well 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 17 

you are looking! {Taking his hand effusively) 
Congratulations ! Sincere congratulations ! We are 
so awfully glad ! 

Anthony. (To Mrs. Leavitt rather absently) 
Thank you, thank you. (To Adelaide) But where 
is Violet? 

Adelaide. She will be down in a minute. 

Anthony. (With feigned indifference) Of 
course she knows that Mrs. Leavitt is here? 

(Mrs. de Salle has entered by stairs.) 

Adelaide. (Brightly) Mamma comes next! — 
the order is climactic. 

Anthony. (Repeating this time to Mrs. de 
Salle) Violet has been told of course that Mrs. 
Leavitt is here? 

Mrs. de Salle. (Embarrassed) Oh, yes, a 
dozen times ! I'm sure she'll come down right 
away. 

(The grand manner sits somehow rather gro- 
tesquely on Mrs. de Salle and like her clothes, 
which are irreproachably elegant, seems not al- 
together to be hers by original right. Under- 
neath her well-groomed, well-polished impres- 
siveness you might detect an acute, unceasing 
anxiety, an apprehension of well, I don't know 
quite what, but something.) 

Adelaide. (With vivid emphasis as if to prevent 
the possibility of Mrs. de Salle saying more) 
Perhaps she was a trifle over-tired by her tramp. 
Though there is not the slightest cause for ap- 
prehension. 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh, not the slightest cause for 
apprehension. 

(And we cannot fail to notice how eagerly she seizes 
every opportunity to echo the perfectly safe 
pronouncements of her daughter.) 



18 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Miss Rawson. (Rising) Mrs. de Salle, permit 
me to introduce Mrs. Leavitt. 

Mrs. de Salle. (With a shadow of Adelaide's 
manner) Very charmed. 

Mrs. Leavitt. Delighted ! — How interesting that 
your daughter should be devoted to walking. Is she 
a great nature-lover? 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh no ! She has always been 
perfectly healthy. 

Adelaide. (Seating herself with a compelling}}' 
gracious air) I do not know what it can precisely 
be about our young English girls. — Though almost 
invariably enjoying the best of health, they seem to 
lack a certain rugged, brute vigor that I find every- 
where amongst your girls of America. 

Miss Rawson. Indeed! 

Adelaide. Your American girls constantly strike 
me with wonder; they are so lithe, so muscular, 
with their great splendid hands, and feet, divinely 
intended, one might say, without a shadow of ir- 
reverence, for struggle with your more elemental 
conditions over here. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Approvingly) Yes. Ele- 
mental ! 

Adelaide. I seem to be watching a parade of 
magnificent animals ! Am I correctly informed, 
Anthony, that in certain of your institutions of learn- 
ing for young women, the students meet regularly 
in football contests with antagonists of the opposite 
sex? 

Anthony. I question it. 

Adelaide. Qa me donne les frissons ! — yet why ? 
Only because, in imagination, I seem to see our girls 
so engaged. And the thought comes; has not the 
American young woman inherited many of the best 
traits of the Indian women — what was the scientific 
term for them ? Papooses ? — that preceded her ? 

Miss Rawson. (Horrified but impressed) Of 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 19 

course, there is no actual blood-relationship between 
them. 

Adelaide. Surely not ! Oh, surely not ! And yet 
family, here in America, impresses us English as 
being such an odd, tangled sort of affair ! 

Miss Rawson. (Who finds her own sentiments 
echoed) No doubt ! 

Adelaide. I mean to say — One never knows to 
whom one may be related ! As Lady Fitzhugh was 
remarking to me one day — Anthony, you will recall 
Lady Fitzhugh? — 

Anthony. Yes, of course ! 

Adelaide. One of the most charming creat- 
ures in the world — and a Granville ! — " Dearest 
Adelaide," she exclaimed, in that odd, emphatic 
manner of hers, " do all American women marry 
their fathers' chauffeurs, and all American men 
their mothers' cook?" 

Miss Rawson. Dear, dear ! 

Adelaide. " By no means always," I replied. 
" Sometimes they remarry them," — intending, by 
that little emendation, to allude to the shocking fre- 
quency of divorce in this country. 

Miss Rawson. It is shocking! 

Adelaide. Lady Fitzhugh, I may add, appre- 
hended my meaning instantly, and went on to speak, 
with the utmost kindness and amiability, of a sermon 
my husband had delivered the previous Sunday upon 
the sanctity of the marriage bond. 

Miss Rawson. A good subject ! 

Aelaide. " I am proud," said she, " that our 
dear Algernon takes so sound a view of this solemn 
institution ! When he is appointed Bishop of High- 
chester, we shall expect some notable utterances 
on these pressing social questions." 

(From the study is heard the voice of Justin.) 
Justin. No ! No ! Not a word ! 



20 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Anthony. Oh, I hope Father is not being severe 
with Geoffrey. 

Miss Rawson. Your Father is the soul of 
Justice ! 

Adelaide. He is indeed ! Mr. Rawson has quite 
the English sense of equity. So different in that 
respect from our popular idea of the Yankee. 

Mrs. de Salle. Yes, so different. 

Adelaide. When I return to Staffordshire, I 
promise you I shall do my best to correct those 
false and libellous misconceptions. You can have 
no idea what strange beings the Americans are 
thought to be, even by our upper classes ! 

Mrs. Leavitt. Oh, I suppose not. 

Adelaide. I recall very well how our friend, 
Lord Clitheroe, asked me one day: " Is it true that 
the accepted Yankee method of execution is by the 
lynch ? " I hastened to assure him that, though I 
had not visited the States since my girlhood, such I 
knew to be not the case. " The law," I said, " is 
held in the highest respect in the older parts of the 
country, near the Coast." I shall be able to speak 
even more emphatically after my return, for I may 
truly say, I have seen no lawlessness, no bloodshed, 
no violence of any sort whatever during my present 
visit here. 

Anthony. We are fortunate in having such a 
devoted champion. 

Adelaide. Ah, you are too kind. England is the 
home of my adoption, but I can never forget what 
I owe to America. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Echolngly) No! never! (Tele- 
phone rings) 

Mrs. Leavitt. Oh, that is Mr. Leavitt — excuse 
me. (Goes to 'phone) 

Miss Rawson. (To the de Salles) The private 
wire brings friends even closer. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 21 

Mrs. Leavitt. (At 'phone) Yes? Is that you, 
Stephen ? 

Adelaide. (To Mrs. de Salle) Dear Mamma, 
I do believe we must have one between the Rectory 
and Lady Fitzhugh's. It would be such a con- 
venience. 

Mrs. Leavitt. (At 'phone) Very well, I'll come 
over at once. (Returning to Miss Rawson) I'm so 
sorry, but my advice is wanted at home ; so I shall 
have to put off meeting Miss de Salle until another 
time, after all. 

Adelaide. She will be inconsolable. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Echoing) Yes — inconsolable ! 

Miss Rawson. (Accompanying Mrs. Leavitt to 
porch) My dear, couldn't you and Stephen come 
over to lunch? We'll have it on the porch. There 
is such a lovely picnic flavor in the air to-day. 

Anthony. (Joining them) Let me second the 
invitation ! 

Mrs. Leavitt. Why, yes, it would be sweet. 
We'll be delighted ! 

(Exeunt Mrs. Leavitt, Anthony and Miss Raw- 
son, by porch.) 

Miss Rawson. (As they go) Then we shall 
look for you about one. 

(Their voices are heard outside as they leave the 
porch. Mrs. de Salle is following them 
vaguely with somewhat the air of a Guilty Thing 
and as if hoping to avoid being left alone with 
her brilliant daughter. But she has not reached 
the porch door before she is halted dead in 
her tracks by a peremptory command from 
Adelaide.) 

Adelaide. MA ! 



22 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Mrs. de Salle. (Turning as if expecting a 
whipping') Yes. Delia? 

Adelaide. Where you going? 

Mrs. de Salle. Nowhere. 

Adelaide. Come here ! (Mrs. de Salle coww) 
What the dickens has got into Violet? (Her voice 
is scarcely recognizable in its raw, almost strident 
American homespun) 

Mrs. de Salle. (Wringing her hands) Oh, I'm 
sure I haven't an idea ! 

Adelaide. Whatever it is, it's got to be knocked 
out, and no delay ! If Ollie don't attend to business, 
she'll mull everything ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Weakly protesting) Oh I'm 
sure — Delia 

Adelaide. (C ommandingly) Now look here! 
Are you backin' her up? 

Mrs. de Salle. (Collapsing) Delia, I don't 
know what I'm a-doin'. 

Adelaide. Humph ! The usual situation ! If 
you'd once learned to know what you were doing, 
you wouldn't have played so beautifully into the 
hands of that cat-eyed peddlar of slanders, Lady 
Fitzhugh ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Aghast) Lady Fitzhugh ! I 
never told a thing to Lady Fitzhugh ! I didn't, I 
didn't! (Sits helpless) 

Adelaide. To be sure ! Of course notj* But for 
all that, Lady Fitzhugh managed very neatly to 
worm out of you that we came from Missionary 
Loop, Indiana, and that Dad made every cent he 
had out of patent medicine. 

Mrs. de Salle. (On her feet) I never ! — I never 
said a word about the Sayles's Favorite Stomach 
Elixir, or the Sissapoola Indian Herb remedies ! 
Nothing in the world would make me open my 
mouth ! 

Adelaide. (Curtly) Rats, Ma ! You know you 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 23 



just handed over everything- she wanted to serve for 
all her nasty innuendoes. Oh, I can hear her ringin' 
'em out now ! "So they came to England to find 
husbands ! I wonder now what can be the reason 
for it ! — considering who they were, and all ! " — 
Ugh ! Oh, why, why did I ever leave you alone for 
five minutes ! 

Mrs. de Salle. {Plaintively) Oh, why did 
you — why did you? 

Adelaide. Might have known it would mean 
ruin! 

Mrs. de Salle. {Horrified) Ruin! 

Addelaide. {Crisply) That's what I'm facing 
at the present moment. {Showing envelope) Do 
you know what's in this letter I got from Algernon 
last night? 

Mrs. de Salle. {With a gulp of horror) No! 

Adelaide. It's come to his ears at last. Oh, 
it was sure to in time with Lady Fitzhugh at the 
guns ! He's insulted, distressed — all that a faith- 
ful husband should be — but — he calls on me to deny 
everything. " Cable reply " — that's the postscript. 

Mrs. de Salle. " Cable reply ! " 

Adelaide. So now you see just where we are, 
and it's a good tight place ! 

Mrs. de Salle. {Gasping) Did you answer it? 

Adelaide. I did. — One word — " Lies." 

Mrs. de Salle. But — {Rising and sitting again) 

Adelaide. But nothing ! I didn't say " All 
Lies." I said, " Lies ". Half of what that gassy 
old windbag of a Fitzhugh says is sure to be lies, 
anyhow. 

Mrs. de Salle. {Cheeringly) But now, I reckon 
this match of Ollie's '11 stop her mouth. 

Adelaide. Yes ! Yes ! {Bitterly) " This match 
of Ollie's ! " That comes well from you just at the 
moment when you're doing your best to smash it. 

Mrs. de Salle. Me ! 



24 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. Look here ! Don't you see, you've got 
to set to and help me manage Ollie? Why didn't 
you make her come down? 

Mrs. de Salle. {Whimpering) I got on my 
knees to her, Dell. 

Adelaide. Sh ! — (Anthony is seen entering by 
porch) Now you pack off upstairs and have Violet 
here in five minutes. Understand? Don't be a jelly- 
fish ! — There! (Mrs. de Salle exits helplessly by 
the stairs. Adelaide turns quickly and goes with a 
manner of comprehending sympathy to Anthony, 
once more the irreproachable, unapproachable Mrs. 
Bumpstead-Leigh, and holding out her hands to 
him she exclaims:) My dear boy! — Something is 
wrong ! 

Anthony. (Sullenly) There's something I don't 
understand. 

Adelaide. Tell me, frankly, candidly, as brother 
to sister — there has been no — no difference? 

Anthony. Not a shadow. 

Adelaide. Might it not be merely the effect of 
excitement — the fag, the novelty of everything? 

Anthony. Is that a reason for avoiding me? 

Adelaide. Of course not — and yet 

Anthony. Let me tell you! — Since I first ob- 
served the change in her, I have been more attentive 
than usual, and yet she is unresponsive, — cold ! 

Adelaide. It is only a phase, — a mere transient 
little phase, nothing more, Anthony dear, believe 
me. Of her love you are sure. — You must be 
patient ! 

Anthony. (With dignity) I have been patient! 
She knows that Mrs. Leavitt wished to meet her 
and she refused to come down. It was an affront. 

Adelaide. Tell her frankly what you think ! 
Perhaps you will discover the trouble — and if not, 
let me try. But be very tender with her ! — 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 25 

(At this moment, Violet de Salle enters by the 
stairs. She is a sweet, straight-forward girl of 
eighteen, naturally candid and sincere. Her 
manner is unaffected and cultivated. She 
hesitates; then comes reluctantly tGward 
Adelaide.) 

Violet. You wished to see me, Adelaide ? 

Adelaide. (Sweetly) Yes, — that is, no, not now. 
There was something I wished to ask you, but it can 
wait. (Glancing at her watch) — For I promised 
Geoffrey to visit his kennels. I am a bit late. 
(Going) 

Violet. (Uneasily) Oh, mayn't I come with 
you ? 

Adelaide. (With gentle authority) Oh, no, 
Violet dear ! It would be most imprudent after 
your tiresome walk this morning. You must re- 
main quietly indoors until after lunch. (Her eyes 
smile gently upon her sister; but if you look you may 
see one hand kindly placed on Violet's shoulder 
suddenly stiffen as it imparts a vigorous push to the 
unwilling girl. And with this, she exits, to porch) 

Anthony. (After a moment's silent regard of 
the girl, zuho does not return his gaze) Violet, do 
you know that you have caused me a great deal of 
pain? 

Violet. (With timid concern) Oh, have I, 
Anthony? I'm so sorry. It hasn't been intentional. 
Indeed it hasn't ! 

Anthony. (Sharpening) Do you mean to say 
that your failure to appear just now was uninten- 
tional. 

Violet. (Simply) Yes, truly, I meant to come. 

Anthony. Then why didn't you? 

Violet. (Faintly) I don't know. — I — I seemed 
to want to be alone. 

Anthony. (With irony) You seem to want to 



26 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

be alone often of late. What about this solitary ex- 
pedition over the dunes before breakfast ? 

Violet. I wanted to think. 

Anthony. (Positively) Something's the matter. 

Violet. (Frightened) Oh — no! 

Anthony. (Putting his arm about her endear- 
ingly, shows her to the sofa where they sit) Come ! 
I've got you all to myself at last. We must talk ! 
Sit down. Violet, you are not like yourself. Tell 
me, are you hiding something? Have you been 
naughty? Eh? Have you? Have you? (He 
insists wheelingly and ends by kissing her in rather 
a lavish manner) 

Violet. (Freeing herself with a little cry) Oh! 

Anthony. Why, what's wrong? 

Violet. (Faintly) I thought I heard someone. 

Anthony. Well, what of it? Need we be 
ashamed? Isn't our love noble, divinely ordained? 
Moments like these, when I speak to you as to my 
second self, are the summits of life ; delectable 
mountains from which, hand in hand, we look into 
new, untraveled lands, behold transporting visions 
of beauty and truth ! 

(It would be quite proper and natural, of course, for 
Violet to be swept away by these choice 
phrases, but for some reason or other, she only 
replies, rather feebly:) 

Violet. What a vocabulary you have, Anthony. 

Anthony. (Fondly) Only when you inspire 
me, darling! Without you I am mute. You are 
like some rare, precious wine. When I put you to 
my lips, a new joy, an inspiration, a feeling of 
exuberant vitality sweeps over me. The World 
does not know me, Violet ! It thinks me sedate, 
cold, passionless, — clever too, perhaps, 

Violet. (Faintly) Oh, yes, very clever, 
Anthony; everyone speaks of that. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 27 

Anthony. People say, " There is a man with a 
future ; a man who will make his mark some day ! " 
But, of my true self, beloved, what does the world 
know? Nothing! — That is for you! — {Warming 
to her) None but you has ever stirred those slum- 
bering fires 

Violet. {Jumping nervously up) Oh, there is 
Adelaide ! 

Adelaide. (Entering gaily) Have you Ameri- 
cans that droll old saying about a bad penny al- 
ways turning up again? Well, here I am. 

Violet. (Eagerly) Did you see the dogs, Delia? 
Oh, aren't they the sweetest dears? 

Adelaide. No, I didn't see the dogs. Geoffrey 
met a man who wanted to buy a pig. — Really, 
Anthony, your brother is by way of being quite a 
farmer, is not he ! 

Anthony. (With veiled contempt) The pigs 
are the most recent addition to his stock, I believe. 

Violet. Oh, they are heavenly pigs, Delia ! 
There's one old mother who took a prize at the 
County Fair, and she has seven of the darlingest 
little pink babies. Geoffrey let me pick one up. 

Adelaide. (Horrified) Violet! 

Violet. Why not ? It has the cutest little face, — 
exactly like a little wee baby. — Geoffrey promised I 
should take it back to Trumpington-on-Swcll. 

Adelaide. (Burying her face) Oh! Oh! 

Anthony. (Jealously) Strange, I have heard 
nothing of all these expeditions to the kennels and 
the pig pens. 

Violet. (Innocently) I didn't suppose you'd 
care to come, Anthony. I'm sorry if I have dis- 
pleased you. 

Anthony. (Rather grandly) Oh, not at all — 
not at all. 

(Violet goes thoughtfully to the window, Left, and 
stands there looking out.) 



28 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. Since Chaniecler, barnyards have 
come quite into good odour, I believe. — Oh, 
Anthony, I had all but forgotten ! Mr. Leavitt was 
inquiring for you, — some little business matter, he 
said. I promised to tell you. He is in the library, 
I think. 

Anthony. (Going) With your permission, 
Violet? 

(Violet makes no rejoinder.) 

Adelaide. (Apart to Anthony, as he passes 
her) Did you get any clue? (Anthony shakes 
his head) Leave it to me. (Exit Anthony. For 
a moment, Adelaide silently wat cites her sister; 
then zvitJi decision she abruptly challenges her, and 
her manner is once more that of the ambitious but 
untutored daughter of Indiana) Ollie, you've 
kicked up enough how-do-do in the last forty-eight 
hours to smash everything ! I guess you'd better 
give me some explanations, young lady ! 

Violet. (Mildly) I don't know what you 
mean. 

Adelaide. (With extreme disgust) Stuff and 
nonsense, girl ! Do you take me for a blind bat ? 

Violet. (Innocently) I haven't intended to 
offend him. 

Adelaide. (Unspeakably contemptuous) And 
pray, is that your recipe for holding on to a man ! 
If any girl but my own sister said such a fool thing, 
I'd consign her to the psychopathic ward and be done 
with it. What have you been toted around Europe 
for all these years, if not to learn how to play the 
game? You've hooked a fish — I grant you, though 
the credit's more mine than yours ! But he ain't 
in the frying pan yet, by a long sight, an' don't you 
forget it ! 

Violet. (Hurt) Delia, please. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 29 

Adelaide. (Throwing arms about her zvith 
affectionate manner) There, there, dear ! I may- 
be too blunt; but after all, it's only because I'm 
thinking of what's best for you. Come, let's talk 
it over quietly! — Ollie, I want you to trust me. Is 
that wantin' too much? What has come between 
us lately? I feel as if I hardly knew ye any more. 
Perhaps you think I don't care, but I do, — Violet, 
I do care. 

Violet. (Yielding to sudden sobs, while she 
leans her head on Adelaide's bosom) Oh, Delia, 
I'm so unhappy ! I wish I were dead ! 

Adelaide. (With shrewd smile of triumph — as 
site tenderly pats her) Tell your old sister all about 
it. 

Violet. I used to think it didn't matter; but 
now — just these last few days, — oh, it's been mak- 
ing me feel so ashamed and humiliated to be deceiv- 
ing everybody like this. 

Adelaide. Deceiving everybody ? — (Pause) Why, 
what do you mean, Violet ? 

Violet. (With accusing eyes) You know what 
I mean! 

Adelaide. Indeed I do not! — Whom have you 
been deceiving? 

Violet. Anthony, Geoffrey, Miss Rawson ! — 
everybody! 

Adelaide. (Hardening a little) Ye have ! What 
have you been deceivin' 'em about? 

Violet. (Withdrawing into herself) It's no 
use ! — I don't think I could make you see it my way. 

Adelaide. (Seeming deeply wounded) Oh, 
Violet ! What have I done to get treated like this ? 

Violet. (Softening again) I didn't mean it that 
way. It's only — you know as well as I do, that if 
these people knew all about us, and who we were, 
they wouldn't have us here for anything in the 
world. 



30 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. Now look me straight in the eye ! — Do 
you honestly think yourself their inferior? 

Violet. (Thoughtfully) No — but that's not the 
point ! 

Adelaide. (Bitingly) The point is : You think 
we ought to tell them all about Sayles's Favorite 
Stomach Elixir, and the Sissapoola Indian Herb 
Remedies ! 

Violet. (Shuddering) I don't think I could, 
even if I thought I ought to. 

Adelaide. (Remorselessly) You'd like them to 
know how, on every bottle, was emblazoned the 
picture of our lamented sire — thus! — (Raising one 
hand, as if in blessing, and assuming a grotesquely 
benignant countenance) over the words: "Old Jim 
Sayles, the Sufferer's Friend." (With a groan) 
Land sakes ! Isn't it expiation enough to have 
lived — only to have lived with that till I was twenty 
years old, without forcing me now to rake up the 
hideous recollections ! How they used to guy me 
about it, even in Missionary Loop! (Imitating a 
native of her native tozun) " Wa'l, wa'l ! So you 
be old Jim Sayles's gal ! Say, I hear tell as how up 
to your hum, they gives ye Stomach Elixir on yer 
pancakes." — Are we accountable for what our Dad 
happened to be and what he happened to do? Is 
that our fault? Are we branded ? Thank God, no! 
That's done with ! We've paid the price ! For 
everything we've gained, we've paid the price ! 

Violet. (With conviction but very simply) Not 
honestly ! 

Adelaide. (Urgently, with equal conviction) 
Yes, honestly! Didn't the most expensive heraldic 
bureau in New York say we had a perfect right to 
the name de Salle? Didn't they say it could be 
proved definitely that somebody or other back a few 
hundred years was named that? — Well, there's no 
criminality so far, is there ! And then we went to 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 31 

Washington without a friend in the world. Mother 
rented the house on Lafayette Circle, and you and 
I attended the swellest day school in the city. How 
I worked to lay on a little culture and style and 
savoir faire for those two awful years ! You were 
a youngster. You escaped all that ! — 

Violet. (With ironic emphasis) Oh, I remem- 
ber ! It wasn't until the second year that any of the 
girls at Miss Westleigh's would be seen with me. 

Adelaide. Very likely not ! But before we quit 
Washington, mother had a visiting list with thirty- 
four bona fide names on it — two senator's wives, and 
the wife of the Secretary of the French Embassy. 
That's something ! And through Madame Epervier 
we got a little foothold in Paris ; and then on, and 
on, one step after another ! I've worked like a horse 
for everybody ! — Well, haven't I ! Where would 
you be to-day, I'd like to know, if it wasn't for me? 
Eh? Answer me that, will you. (Violet is silent) 
Very likely the wife of Missionary Loop's most 
popular grocer. And every night about bedtime, 
while he'd be sittin' in front of the base burner 
in his stockin' feet, you'd be havin' a nice piece 
o' apple pie together ! Perhaps you'd be Secretary 
of the Missionary Loop Culture Club ! That would 
be something to live for, wouldn't it ! 

Violet. (Distressed) Oh, Delia! How can 
you! 

Adelaide. Well, I'm merely reminding you of 
where you might have been if I hadn't put my 
shoulder to the wheel and set to work to do some- 
thing, and to get somewhere. Ten years at hard 
labor, that was the sentence I imposed on myself ; 
and now I ask you to look about you and say if I 
can't show results ! How about Ma ? Haven't I 
made her over into a thoroughly presentable 
personage? — If she'd only keep her mouth shut? — 
Haven't I made a match for myself that a thousand 



32 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

American girls with family trees and five times our 
money would sell their souls for? Now haven't I? 

Violet. (Admiring perforce) You have done 
handsomely, Dell. 

Adelaide. And I haven't left one single stone 
unturned to do as well for you! What could you 
ask for better than Anthony Rawson? My land, 
girl, if you think all this has been child's play, you're 
mistaken — very much mistaken ! And who have I 
done it for? Myself? 

Violet. (Simply) Delia, I do honestly feel 
grateful to you, even when I don't seem to show it. 

Adelaide. (Indulgently) There, there! Say 
nothing more about it. And now I hope that affair 
is settled once and for all — Eh? — (Pause) Well? 

Violet. There's something else. — Something a 
great deal more important. 

Adelaide. (Crisply) I thought so ! — Now, we're 
getting at it ! — (With dry emphasis) You don't love 
Anthony any more ! 

Violet. (Startled) Oh, — how could you guess? 

Adelaide. I'm a crystal-gazer, dear. 

Violet. (Simply) I don't know whether I ever 
really loved him. I used to think I did — at least 
enough — but now — Oh, I can't bear to have him 
come near me ! 

Adelaide. (Curtly) In other words, he's not 
what you took him for ! 

Violet. (Timidly) Very likely, I'm wrong 
about it. 

Adelaide. (Matter-of-fact) No, you're right 
about it! 

Violet. (Crushed) Oh, it's too dreadful! 

Adelaide. (With positive, clear pronouncement) 
No it's not ! — You've simply found out the truth ; 
and it's bound to be hard — for a week or two ! He 
isn't what you thought him. Not one man in a 
dozen is what a nice woman would like to think 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 33 

him. He's selfish, he's greedy, he's egotistical ; and 
the more he fiddle-diddles about the beauty and 
sacredness of love, the more you'd better look out 
for him ! 

Violet. (With dismay) Oh! How can you 
bear to live ! 

Adelaide. (With buoyant conviction) Oh, I 
decided quite a long time ago — just as you are going 
to decide — that there's something — very — well — 
worth — living for — after all! (Measuring each 
word) 

Violet. Yes ? 

Adelaide. To strike — the best bargain — with the 
world — you can ! Now listen to me while I tell you 
something. Do you remember Pete Swallow, of 
Missionary Loop ? ( Yes, she actually pronounces 
it: S wallah) 

Violet. Was he the man who used to show me 
the pictures of tombstones with urns and weeping 
willows on top? 

Adelaide. I was engaged to Pete. (Without 
the slightest hesitation or sentiment, even with a 
perception of the humor of the story) I thought I 
loved him — loved him in the approved, turtle-dove 
way — your way. Well, Pete Swallow taught me a 
whole lot of things. He was a good teacher, and 
when Ed studied under him long enough, I decided 
I could strike a better bargain elsewhere. — / did! 

Violet. Oh, Delia! 

Adelaide. (Matter-of-fact) Oh, don't mis- 
understand me ! I know Algernon's stupid ; I know 
he's petty and narrow-minded and egostical; but 
he's exactly the kind of a husband I happen to 
want, so Fm satisfied ! Now here's your bargain — 
not a mark-down, department-store affair, either. 
But a Prize! A blue -ribb oner! And it's your 
business to take it and to keep a hold of it. 



34 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Violet. (On verge of collapse) Oh, Delia, I 
can't. 

Adelaide. " Can't ": must! (Softening) What 
you need, my dear, is just a little scrap o' common 
sense! You're asking for better bread than wheat 
makes; and you won't get it in this world. You 
want the moon to be always full ; you want, " Hertz 
und Schmertz " all the time. Well, that's not real 
life! That's story-books. (Rising) Turtle doves 
never get anywhere. They always roost on the 
ridge-pole. That don't suit me; and it wouldn't 
suit you very long — I know you too well for that ! 
So put these silly notions out of your little head, 
like the sensible girl you are, and play up! That's 
the word for the woman who intends to make a 
success of life. Play up! Life's not such a bad 
game after all ! — Now look at me, and tell me you're 
going to do the right thing. 

Violet. (Faintly and without conviction) I'll 
try. 

Adelaide. Good! That's the way I like to hear 
you speak ! Now I must run upstairs and dash off a 
line for to-morrow's boat ; and when I come down, I 
shall expect to find you out in the garden, with the 
others, playing up! — Ta-ta ! (Exit) 

(Violet remains seated in pensive silence.) 

Geoffrey. (Entering from porch and not per- 
ceiving her the first instant) Oh, I didn't know you 
were in here. (He is going out again as if pre- 
ferring not to talk with her, then halts) Great 
Scott ! You look awfully down. Is something the 
matter ? 

Violet. (With dejected simplicity) Yes. 

Geoffrey. (Fraternally) W 7 hat? 

Violet. Everything. 

Geoffrey. (Sitting) Same here ! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 35 

Violet. (Inquiringly) Yes? (Sympathetically) 
Oh, I'm sorry ! 

Geoffrey. You know, I've about decided I'm 
kind — of a sort — of a misfit. 

Violet. I know I'm one. 

Geoffrey. I'm thinking about making a move. 

Violet. Oh, are you? — So — so am I. 

Geoffrey. I think it would be a lot better for 
everybody concerned if I cut out and hit the trail 
for New Mexico. 

Violet. (With involuntary eagerness) It must 
be lovely on a ranch ! 

Geoffrey. (With enthusiasm) You're right! — 
it's great! It's so blamed real! — (Checking him- 
self) Not that that means anything to you! 

Violet. (With involuntary exclamation) Oh, 
but it does ! — more than you think ! (A silence 
which becomes dangerously full of meaning. Finally 
as if rousing herself from enthr ailment Violet tries 
to resume casual blithe manner) Don't — don't you 
think it would be nice outside — with the others? 

Geoffrey. (Adopting her mood, with an effort) 
Corking ! Come on ! 

(They are going. Enter Right, Leavitt and 
Anthony.) 

Anthony. (With veiled inuendo) Ch, you 
were just going? 

Violet. (With cordial manner) Yes, out to the 
pergola. — Good-morning, Mr. Leavitt ! 

Leavitt. Good-morning! — Hello, Jeff! 

Geoffrey. Hello ! 

Violet. Won't you come along, too ? 

Anthony. Mr. Leavitt and I were just discuss- 
ing a little business matter. 

Violet. (To Geoffrey) Come on then, we're 
dismissed ! (Laughing rather nervously, she exits 
with Geoffrey) 



36 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

(Anthony goes up to porch and watches Geoffrey 
and Violet as they disappear.) 

Leavitt. (Puzzled and a little irritated) Well, 
it may not interest you, Anthony; but there's the 
story ! Take it for what it's worth. 

Anthony. I couldn't believe a word of it. It is 
preposterous, absurd, utterly impossible. (Returns 
to Leavitt and tliey sit) 

Leavitt. I agree with you. A mere coincidence, 
of course; yet certainly a strange one. 

Anthony. He was sure the name was de Salle? 

Leavitt. Yes, quite positive. It was when my 
wife mentioned to me that she had failed to meet 
Miss de Salle, after all, that this Swallow spoke up 
so suddenly : " De Salle, de Salle — look here, where 
does this de Salle come from? Washington, D. C. ? " 
I said I believed the de Salles had once lived there. 

(Nina has entered Left, with a large vase of 
flozvers; but zvhen she observes the men in con- 
fidential talk, she sets the vase on the piano and 
busies herself arranging the flowers, while 
eavesdropping.) 

Anthony. (Thoughtfully) I see — and then he 
went on to tell you about this Sayles family? 

Leavitt. No — not right away. Not until we 
were alone. Then he began talking about this Delia 
Sayles to whom he had been engaged. It was after 
the death of the father — the patent medicine man — 
that the family moved away, and beyond the one fact 
that they went to Washington under the name of de 
Salle, he was perfectly ignorant. 

Anthony. He did not know the younger sister's 
name? 

Leavitt. (Searching his memory) He said 
they always called her — Ollie. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 37 

Anthony. Ollie ! Ollie ! I am sure I have 
heard it. (Sternly) Oh! But it is incredible! 
It cannot be true ! 

Leavitt. Of course! But as a friend I thought 
it my duty to tell you. 

Anthony. (Absently) Thank you! Thank 
you ! I suspect we owe it to ourselves — and to the 
de Salles — to investigate this story. 

Leavitt. You will go to Mrs. de Salle? 

Anthony. (Thoughtfully) No — that would be 
unpleasant, — unpleasant in either event. 

Leavitt. What is your plan? 

Anthony. A simple one : bring Swallow here. 

Leavitt. Llere ! 

Anthony. Confront him with the de Salles. 

Leavitt. But how would you explain things? 

Anthony. Leave that to me. Mrs. Leavitt does 
not know of this ? 

Leavitt. Not a word. 

Anthony. Good. I will manage it so that no 
suspicions will be aroused. Yes, that's it. Bring 
Swallow over here to lunch. 

Leavitt. At one? But he goes by the 1 : 17. 

Anthony. So much the better — we will not de- 
tain him ! — A minute — a second, will tell the story. 
(Nina withdraws) But do not misunderstand me, 
Leavitt — (Rather sternly) I entertain no suspicions 
whatever. (They go up) I simply feel that in view 
of what you have told me — we owe it — to our 
guests — to put the story to the proof. 

Leavitt. (With guarded agreement) I see. 

Anthony. Thank you for coming to me in this 
way. I appreciate it. 

Leavitt. I knew you would understand my 
motive. (At door) Well I will have your man for 
you. Good-bye ! 

Anthony. Au revoir ! and thank you again ! 
(Leavitt exits. Anthony stands an instant in the 



38 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

doorway, thinking zvith rather a crafty expression. 
Nina enters Left, with another vase of flowers) 
What's your hurry, my dear ? 

Nina. {Halting coquettishly) I'm fixing the 
flowers, Mr. Anthony — Aren't they pretty? 

Anthony. (Coming close) Yes, but not half so 
pretty as the face behind them. 

Nina. (Turning archly azvay) Oh, Mr. 
Anthony, you're kidding again. 

Anthony. Why so coy? You know what I 
want, you little lump — This! (Catches her and 
kisses her) 

Nina. (Squealing softly) Ow ! 

Anthony. (Releasing her) Don't you know it's 
very wrong to make a row when a gentleman pays 
you a compliment? You should always keep as 
quiet as a mouse. Now, once more ! 

Nina. (Feigning to protect herself zvith vase of 
flowers) No, sir! 

Adelaide. (Upstairs) Very well, mamma ! I'll 
not forget ! 

Nina. (Startled but concealing her fear of hav- 
ing been discovered by a very professional manner) 
Yes, they are pretty, aren't they? Miss Rawson 
picked them herself this morning, and she has such 
elegant taste in flowers. 

Adelaide. (Entering. Szveetly) Nina, has the 
post come? 

Nina. No madam, not yet ! (Anthony has 
turned in some confusion. Nina goes Right) 

Adelaide. (To Nina) Oh, thank you — (Exit 
Nina) I do not wonder you stop to admire the 
gladiolus, Anthony. (She is all smiles and unsus- 
picion) And Nina does so well with them! 

Anthony. Doesn't she ! But I came to see if 
you were not ready to join us outside. 

Adelaide. With pleasure ! — after I have skimmed 
the London cables. Home politics are in such a 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 39 

mess. The poor dear Lords seem to be hanging by a 
hair! 

Anthony. (Escaping) Well, don't let their 
tribulations keep you indoors too long. (Exit) 

(As Anthony disappears from view, Adelaide 
strides peremptorily to door Right, and calls in 
a low crisp metallic voice:) 

Adelaide. Nina ! 

Nina. (Re-entering nervously) Yes, madam! 

Adelaide. (Incisively) Don't lie — it's no use! 
He kissed you. 

Nina. {Confounded) Oh — ma'am! 

Adelaide. How often has he done it? 

Nina. Oh — ma'am! 

Adelaide. That's all — thank you so much — 
(Turning away and sitting, as if intent on a nezvs- 
paper) 

Nina. (Blubbering) Oh, ma'am! (And that 
is all she can say) 

Adelaide. (Indulgently — after a long pause) 
Why should I wish you to be discharged? You've 
done nothing wrong, at least, not that I know of. 

Nina. (Vehemently) Oh, no, ma'am! 

Adelaide. And if a fascinating gentleman insists 
upon kissing a pretty little housemaid now ard then, 
I don't know how she's to help herself, do you? 

Nina. Indeed, madam, it would be very hard to 
say. (A long pause) 

Adelaide. (Finding banknote in her bag) Now, 
there's something for telling the truth. No one who 
tells the truth need be afraid of me. (Pause while 
she seems to read paper) After this, I may count 
upon you to run straight to me with any little thing 
you believe I ought to know. (Pause) Perhaps 
there is some little thing I ought to know now? 

Nina. (With hesitating eagerness) Oh, ma'am, 



40 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

I think — perhaps you ought to know about a little 
thing that happened here a few minutes ago. 

Adelaide. (Kindly) That is for you to decide, 
Nina. Nothing could be further from me than a 
desire to pry into matters that do not concern me. 

Nina. In a way, ma'am, it does concern you. 

Adelaide. (Definitely) Then it's quite right I 
should know all about it ! 

Nina. (Looking about shyly) Mr. Leavitt was 
here, ma'am 

Adelaide. (Encouragingly) Yes? 

Nina. — to tell Mr. Anthony about a man he 
had visiting him — a Mr. Swallow. 

Adelaide. (Concealing her consternation by a 
terrible fit of coughing) Swallow? Swallow!! 
Dear me, what an odd name ! — But how could that 
possibly concern me, Nina? 

Nina. (Confidentially) There! I was sure it 
couldn't. And so was Mr. Anthony ! At least, first 
he was ; and then he wasn't ; and then he was again ; 
and anyway so as to make sure he told Mr. Leavitt 
to bring Mr. Swallow to luncheon to-day. 

Adelaide. (After another fit of coughing, per- 
fectly self-possessed, very gracious) Oh, yes, I 
see ! How very thoughtful of him ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Entering by stairs) Adelaide, 
hasn't the mail come yet? 

Adelaide. The post, mamma? No, not yet. 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh, I do hope there's word from 
Marie about my hats. (Going Right, she espies 
Violet zvho has just entered on porch and goes out 
to her) 

Adelaide. (With a dismissing gesture to Nina) 
You have shown a very commendable spirit, my 
good girl 

Nina. (Going, confused with pleasure) Oh, I'm 
sure madam, it's a verv great privilege. (Exits 
Left) 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 41 

Adelaide. (Going resolutely tozvard porch with 
her Yankee-est manner) Ma! — Violet! — Come in! 
Violet. Why, what is it? 

(They come down anxious, apprehensive.) 

Adelaide. You'll find out soon enough. There's 
a great big double-barrelled shock coining. Are you 
ready ? 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh, Delia, don't frighten me so ! 

Adelaide. Sit down ! — Violet ! you sit there ! 
(There is a long pregnant pause. Mrs. de Salle 
almost crouches With fear. Adelaide's eyes glitter. 
She crosses her arms like a general and gazes 
directly out tozvard the audience unafraid, resolute, 
and announces:) Pete Swallow is comin' here to 
lunch ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Gulping with terror) Pete! 
Oh, my God ! 

Adelaide. Get a grip on yourself, ma, and listen ! 
Pete's over to the Leavitts' for some reason or 
other, and he's told Leavitt about Missionary Loop ; 
and Anthony has invited him over here to put his 
story to the proof. 

Mrs. de Salle. Delia, we're lost. 

Adelaide. That's what I thought for one second, 
but now, well, I've changed my mind. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Helpless, overwhelmed, in 
mortal dread) Oh, I want 'er know. I want 'er 
know. 

Adelaide. (Thinking with the speed and clear- 
sightedness of Napoleon) You're hopeless, of 
course. He'd recognize you ; you'd lose your head ; 
you'd begin to talk ! — you've got to be sick and go 
to bed in a dark room ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Taught to submit without pro- 
test) Oh, all right! All right !— But how about 
you! You was engaged to Pete! 



42 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. (With smiling, metallic self-as- 
surance) Yes. Ten years ago! Do you think I 
haven't changed since then? Do you think I'd be 
mistaken easily for Delia Sayles of Missionary 
Loop, Indiana? Watch me! if I can't knock him 
galley-west with my lorgnette and my English 
fiddle-de-dee, I miss my guess ! 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh, Delia, what courage ! 

Adelaide. I admit it will take some nerve, when 
I think of the hundreds of times I've sat in his 
lap. But you wait ! — Violet is going to back me up. 
She's safe ! — she was only a kid then — freckles, pig- 
tails and the rest. With her to help me, I'll take on 
the contract. 

Violet. (Quietly) Delia, I want to tell the truth. 

Adelaide. (With a sign of irritation) Still 
twanging on that string! I thought you'd got the 
tune played out of you ! 

Violet. It's no use ! I can't go on with Anthony 
any further — my mind's made up. 

Adelaide. Well, unmake it ! You're engaged to 
Anthony ; and you're going to marry Anthony ! 

Violet. (Quietly decisive) I won't! 

Mrs. de Salle. (With mountainous dignity) 
Violet!! Are you my daughter? 

Violet. (Quivering with defiance) But I tell 
you I won't ! 

Mrs. de Salle. You'll do just as you're told ! 
I'll have no disobedience ! If you go back on us 
now, you'll be doing a wicked, shameful thing! 
Do you want to bring disgrace down on your own 
mother, and on your sister? 

Violet. (Desperately) No, no, I don't! But 
the truth is more important than our reputation. I 
can't live this way any longer — I'm stifling! 

Adelaide. (Dryly) Well, stifle! Stifle! 
'Twon't kill ye ! And when you're married, you 
can tell 'em all you like, for all me ; but married you 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 43 

shall be! This thing has gone too far to be 
skwiggled out of now. 

Mrs. de Salle. Delia's right ! 

Violet. (Helplessly) Mother! 

Mrs. de Salle. Yes, mother! I'm your mother 
and I've got a right to boss you ! 

Violet. (Defiantly) You haven't a right to sell 
my soul ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Swelling up like a turkey) I 
forbid you to use such language to me ! 

Violet. Oh, then I'm all alone ! (Collapsing) 

Mrs. de Salle. (With vast eloquence) A thou- 
sand times worse than alone, if you stand out against 
those who know what's for your best good. And I 
tell you that 

Adelaide. (Cutting her off zvith decision) Oh, 
dry up, ma ! I'm trying to think ! 

Violet. (Frightened) What are you doing? 

Adelaide. Writing. 

Violet. Adelaide ! W'hat is it ? 

Adelaide. A telegram. 

Violet. Who to ? What about ? 

Adelaide. (Matter-of-fact) I'm asking the 
Evening Chronicle to send me over the best man 
they've got on Long Island. I've a nice little story 
for them — a love story ! 

Violet. (With a cry) You shan't! (Trying to 
seize paper) 

Adelaide. Sit down ! 

Mrs. de Salle. Ollie ! Sit down ! Do you hear 
me? 

Adelaide. (Scrutinizing message) Yes, I'm 
going to have the engagement announced in the 
Chronicle. (Presses bell for servant) It will make 
good copy. When the reporter comes, I can even 
suggest headlines. (And she seems to be reading 
them from an imaginary newspaper) " English 
Heiress, to Wed Great-Grandson of General 



44 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Anthony Rawson ! " — (To Kitson who enters Left) 
Kitson, have this wire sent at once ! 

Kitson. Yes, Madam ! (Exit Right) 

Violet. (Starting up desperately) No! 

Adelaide. (Checking her with authority) Now, 
Violet, you are going to do the right thing. — Violet 
always comes around in a crisis ; only she's a proud 
little mustang and fights it out at every step. 
That's all right, I don't blame her for it. See, 
Violet, dear, — run along upstairs and tell Briggs 
to lay out my afternoon gown. There's a dear ! — 
(Turns to her mother as Violet exits) Now, listen 
ma ! ( With her handkerchief she deftly removes the 
bloom from Mrs. de Salle's cheeks) You're to 
go and find Miss Rawson and tell her that you've 
had one of your sudden attacks of vertigo, and that 
you fear you must retire for the rest of the day. 
Do it nicely now. Then come upstairs and give 
Briggs a hand with my dressing! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Faintly rebellious) Dell, you 
make me look a puffect fright ! 

Adelaide. So much the better! She'll believe 
you! (Mrs. de Salle gets to her feet obediently) 
Totter a bit, can't you? Put your hand so! — (Dem- 
onstrating) Don't act so blamed healthy, Ma! — 
Now, what is it you're going to say? You haven't 
the least idea, have you! (Encouragingly, to her) 
" My dear Miss Rawson, I'm so sorry " 

Mrs. de Salle. (Repeating parrot-like) My 
dear Miss Rawson, I'm so sorry, but — (Again at a 
loss) 

Adelaide. (Encouragingly) " But I've just 
had " 

Mrs. de Salle. But I've just had one of my 
terrible 

Adelaide. Oh, don't be middle class ! " But I've 
just had one of my queer little attacks — vertigo, you 
know — and I fear " 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 45 

Mrs. de Salle. (Taking the cue from her and 
performing in her best high society manner) — One 
of my queer little attacks, vertigo, you know— and 
I fear — (And now she finishes triumphantly) I 
must retire for the rest of the day ! 

Adelaide. You look as if you was glad o' the 
chance, — but no matter ! — There ! Now, trot along ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Turning before exit) I don't 
see why it need to be for all day. Couldn't it pass 
off after a while? 

Adelaide. Yes, of course — tell her that. Tell 
her you never know, but sometimes they do pass 
off; and when the creature goes, I'll get word to 
you and have you let out ! That is — if we win ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Hands desperately clasped) 
God help us! (Exits) 

Adelaide. (Collecting her various belongings, 
with a hard undaunted smile) "God help us!" 
indeed! (Breaks into buoyant laughter) Well, 
why not? We help ourselves ! (Is going by stairs) 

Curtain 



ACT II 



Scene: Same as Act I. One hour later. 

Miss Rawson is standing just outside porch 
door, scrutinizing the luncheon table, which is 
supposed to stand on porch off Right, and 
speaking to Kitson, zvho is invisible. 

Miss Rawson. Yes, Kitson, that will do very 
well. 

Kitson. (Appearing) Thank you, madam. 

Miss Rawson. There will be only eight of us 
after all. 



46 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Kitson. Only eight, madam? 

Miss Rawson. Mrs. de Salle will not be down. 

Kitson. Very good, madam. 

Miss Rawson. (To herself, with sympathetic 
recollection) Dear me, how very ill she seemed! 
(Sits with impatient air) You spoke to Mr. Geof- 
frey ? 

Kitson. Yes, madam, I told him you desired 
to see him. 

Geoffrey. (Entering from porch, briskly) You 
wanted me, Aunt Abigail? 

Miss Rawson. Yes ! Decidedly ! I hear that 
you are not expecting to favor us with your presence 
at lunch ! 

Geoffrey. (At a loss for an explanation) I — 
why — (Kicking the rug with his toe) What's the 
use ? You know that's not my style of thing. 

Miss Rawson. (With severity) Don't urge 
that as an excuse. It's high time you adopted the 
style. Your absence would be a slight to the 
Leavitts as well as to Anthony and the de Salles. 

Geoffrey. (With boyish awkwardness) You 
know what a mess I make of everything, Aunt 
Abigail ! We don't go in much for piddy-widdy 
in New Mexico. 

Miss Rawson. We will put all that aside. (Ris- 
ing) I insist that you be present whether you like 
it or not! All the more because of your ill-timed 
outbreak this morning. (Scrutinizing him with dis- 
approval) Make yourself presentable! (With a 
gesture she refuses to listen to him) And do not 
oblige me to send for you when the time comes. 
(Exit with stateliness into study) 

(As Geoffrey starts to leave the room Violet enters 
from stairs.) 

Violet. (Quivering with anxiety) Geoffrey! 
Geoffrey ! Can I speak to you ? 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 47 

Geoffrey. {Startled) Why, of course! 

Violet. (Hurrying to him) I've something — 
terribly important — to ask you ! 

Geoffrey. Lie ! 

Violet. Yes. There isn't anybody else. 

Geoffrey. (Fraternally) Why, Violet, what is 
it? 

Violet. I — I — (Losing her courage) Oh, I 
don't know that I'd better, after all. 

Geoffrey. (Encouragingly) Are you afraid of 
me? 

Violet. (Shyly) Well — listen! (And she takes 
the plunge excitedly) Suppose a girl had been tell- 
ing lies to everybody all her life, without really 
knowing how mean and wrong it was, and suppose 
finally some — er — something made her see it all in a 
different way. Don't you think — (With an in- 
coherent outburst) Oh, Geoffrey, — sometimes it's 
just awfully hard to know what's right, isn't it? I 
don't know what to do, because it isn't just myself, 
you see. And oh, if I do what I think I ought to, it'll 
make everybody so unhappy ! (Pathetic in her help- 
lessness) 

Geoffrey. (Earnestly) But you really think 
you ought to do it ? 

Violet. (Gaining confidence) I do ! I really 
do ! Yes, my mind's made up. I'm going to tell 
the truth, even if I have to hate myself forever and 
ever. It'll be better than this, anyway. Oh, please 
tell me I have the courage ! 

Geoffrey. (Taking her hands firmly) If it's 
something you really ought to do, I know you have 
the courage ! 

Violet. (Impulsively) Oh, Geoffrey! (Re- 
leasing her hands and running to stairs) Perhaps, 
when I've done this thing, you'll never speak to me 
again. 

Geoffrey. Can't I help you, Violet? 



48 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Violet. (From the stairs) You have helped 
me ! When the time comes, I know I can do it. 

(Exits, Geoffrey looks after her an instant with 
frank adoration, then tarns as Anthony enters 
from porch.) 

Anthony. (With an inn en do) Oh, you're here ! 
I was looking for you. 

Geoffrey. (Matter-of-fact) Well, that's unusual 
business. 

Anthony. Failing to find you at the pig-pen, I 
tried several less likely spots : — the kennels, the 
cabbage patch, and so on, — this last of all. 

Geoffrey. Well, what can I do for you ? 

Anthony. (With irritation) You can listen to 
me for about one minute. You're paying decidedly 
too much attention to Violet, and I don't like it. She 
may, for all I know ; but that's not the point. 

Geoffrey. (Quietly) The point is ? 

Anthony. (Brutally direct) The point is : she's 
engaged to me! The point is : — hands off ! 

Geoffrey. (With self-control) What do you 
imply by that? 

Anthony. (Cuttingly) Do you wish me to 
specify? 

Geoffrey. (Facing him directly) Yes, specify! 

Anthony. (With a look at the stairs) I'll 
specify some other time. It's enough just now for 
you to understand me ! 

Geoffrey. Understand you! 

Anthony. Yes, I say: understand me! (Very 
clearly and bitingly, to Geoffrey who is now at the 
door) Do you — understand me? 

Geoffrey. (Giving him a look of unspeakable 
contempt) Oh, yes — yes — / understand you! (Exit 
to study) 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 49 

(Anthony is unpleasantly startled; but recovers 
himself, with a shrug of cynical amusement, 
and after an instant's delay, touches bell for 
servant.) 

Nina. {Entering promptly) Oh, you rang, Mr. 
Anthony ? 

Anthony. {With a cautioning gesture) Come 
here! (Nina comes, a little backivardly) Don't be 
afraid. I'm not going to eat you. 

Nina. I know — but 

Anthony. {Reassuringly) That's all right. 
One scare a day is enough for my nerves, too. 
{Coming closer, in lozver voice) Tell me, did Mrs. 
Bumpstead-Leigh suspect anything? 

Nina. {Outrageously reassuring) Oh, no, Mr. 
Anthony, not a thing! 

Anthony. {A little insistent, a little zvheedling) 
Not a thing? Are you sure? 

Nina. {Eyes innocently wide) Oh, sure! 

{Enter Kitson from Right, crosses Left, with a 
tray. He passes the two without seeming to 
observe.) 

Anthony. Didn't she speak to you? 

Nina. Yes, Mr. Anthony, but not about that. 

Anthony. Good! {Coming closer) Nina, 
you're a very clever little girl, and — {At this moment 
he becomes aware of Kitson's presence and im- 
mediately alters his tone and manner to one of 
severest censure) — and I hope that I shall not have 
to speak to you again about it. I do not want any 
such thing to happen again ! {By this time Kitson 
has gone out, Left, and Anthony now tweaks her 
ear laughingly) You little imp, you, what makes 
you so irresistible, anyway ! 

Nina. {Archly) Oh, I'm sure, Mr. Anthony! 



50 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Anthony. Listen, don't you think we might 
manage to be even better friends? {He is tempted 
to kiss her, but an impulse of caution holds him) 
We must find a place some time where there's not 
so much coming and going — eh? {Chucks her chin 
and exits) 

(Nina has just turned to go when Kitson re-enters 
Left with silver coffee service.) 

Kitson. {Not putting down his burden) Well, 
I see you're at it again ! 

Nina. {With an indifferent shrug) Humph! 

Kitson. {Sagaciously) Smear yourself with 
honey ; you'll hear the flies buzz. 

Nina. {Attempting vainly to pass him) Oh! — 
what talk ! 

Kitson. You're a proud little baggage, ain't ye ! 
You're a-going to have your fun, ain't ye ! It 
wouldn't mean nothing to you, I suppose, would it, if 
I was to tell you — {Halting himself, with a signifi- 
cant shake of the head) — what I could tell you, an' 
I would, about Mr. Anthony! 

Nina. What could you tell me : I got to know 
that first. 

Kitson. Tell ye? Hst! {Very darkly) Did you 
ever hear about poor Mamie Tanner ? . 

Nina. {Imitating his tone) No, I never heard 
about poor Mamie Tanner. What about her? 

Kitson. (With melodramatic impressiveness) 
What about her? — Well, that's something I don't 
intend to tell to a living soul, young lady, so long as 
I'm in Mr. Rawson's service. Go down on your two 
knees to me if you like. My lips are sealed. You'll 
get nothing. 

Nina. Pooh ! I can't see why you should be so 
terrible close about it. 

Kitson. Ye can't, eh? 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 51 

Nina. {Her curiosity at last aroused) Go on ! 
Tell! 

Kitson. {Drawing himself up) There is such a 
thing as family, young lady; though you may not 
happen to have heard of it. Fve been five and 
twenty years in the service of Mr. Rawson. {And 
he looks it) 

Nina. Do you mean to tell me even Mr. Rawson 
don't know ? 

Kitson. {Sepulchrally) If Mr. Raw T son was 
once to find out — Oh ! — Oh ! But as I've many a 
time said to myself : — Kitson, your lips are sealed ! 
— Let 'em bring on their king's horses. Let 'em 
bring on their king's men. They'll not pry a w r ord 
out o' me. 

Nina. {Taking a new tack) Oh, pshaw ! You're 
just putting on airs to scare me. 

Kitson. {Superior to all temptation) Very 
well. Very well. Have it just as you like. But 
you can't say I haven't done my duty by you. Now 
go and fix up the sandwiches ! — And, remember, 
you're warned. {Exits to porch) 

(Nina goes out Left, with a piqued expression as 
Miss Rawson is seen on the porch. She stops 
a moment to scrutinize the luncheon table.) 

Miss Rawson. Yes, that is very good- -Have 
Nina put some flowers there — {Indicating) — a vase 
of cosmos, I should think — or single asters. 

Mrs. Leavitt. {Who is seen to join her outside 
on the porch and now enters the room in her com- 
pany) My dear Miss Rawson, really! I don't 
know what to say ! It's simply outrageous that 
Stephen should have insisted on bringing him over — 
I did my best 

(A group consisting of Leavitt, Anthony and 
Swallow nozv appears on the porch. Peter 



52 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Swallow, the central figure, conspicuous for 
the psetido-Broadzi'ay cut of his clothes, faces 
towards the view, and to judge by his oratorical 
gestures is ceaselessly talking.) 

Miss Rawson. (Consolingly to Mrs. Leavitt) 
There, there ! Not another word, my dear ! Anthony 
has explained everything. He was sure we would 
find him entertaining. 

Mrs. Leavitt. At all events, the agony will soon 
be over. He takes the one-seventeen. 

Miss Rawson. But I ordered lunch for one 
o'clock. 

Mrs. Leavitt. Good ! Don't sit down till he's 
gone. 

(Kitson is taking Swallow's hat and stick.) 

Justin. (Entering from study) Mrs. Leavitt! 
How do you do! (Shaking hands) This time you 
are going to see our English Violet. 

Mrs. Leavitt. I can hardly wait. Mrs. Bump- 
stead-Lcigh has simply taken me by storm. Oh, how 
happy you all must be. 

Justin. We are ! 

Miss Rawson. Our guests have arrived, you see, 
Justin. (Indicating the porch) 

Mrs. Leavitt. (Pointing to Swallow with comic 
desperation) That centerpiece — that monument- 
like affair — that's — that's — Oh, Miss Rawson, do 
take me somewhere ! 

(Miss Rawson laughingly takes her under her wing 
and the favo are about to exit, Right, when 
Swallow turning, perceives Miss Rawson, and 
intercepts with exuberant cordiality. Peter 
Swallow is. a joint product of the unsophisti- 
cated Middle West and sophisticated East. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 53 

The heartiness and simplicity of his behavior 
combine strangely with his egregious self- 
esteem and his uncontrollable pleasure in hear- 
ing himself talk. He thinks his clothes quite the 
last word in the matter of style, — and so indeed 
they are.) 

Swallow. (Beaming upon Miss Rawson) And 
this, if I be not mistaken, is the old Auntie ! Your 
years rest lightly upon you, madam — as lightly as the 
snow upon a new-made grave ! 

Miss Rawson. You flatter me ! — Come, Lottie ! 
(The ladies escape) 

Swallow. (Standing in the doorway, incapable 
of checking the flozv of his own words) Nice old 
lady !- — As I was sayin', gentlemen, a callin' like 
mine gives a man a very pretty eye for landscapey 
effects. Take a nice artistic tombstun now — say one 
of these monuments o' the Cleopatry's Needle type : 
— she got to be placed in a certain particular way to 
give the very handsomest impression. You can't set 
'er in a hole in the ground, it's like she was a-hollerin' 
out for some commandin' eminence — (Pauses and 
wheels round toward ocean view, while his hand 
seems to be picking out a suitable site) 

Leavitt. (Ready to introduce him) Excuse me, 
Mr. Swallow, but I should like 

Swallow. (Utterly ignoring the other's effort) 
There ! Say like that 'ere sandhill, over yonder, — 
supposin' all this country to be one mighty cemetery, 
with the eternal sea, Old Ocean, with his thunders, 
beyond ! — that's the site for your needle ! — An' put 
some simple, elegant mottah on her base, like hope, 
in 9-inch, high-relief letterin'. — You catch the eye at 
once ; and similarly you create a dignified, noble and 
solemn effect, — in short, a 9-inch effect ! 

Leavitt. (More insistently) Mr. Swallow, I 
want to make you 



54 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Swallow. (Quite oblivious) Or take the two 
words, / sleep — that's an especially chaste, very 
modern sentiment that's goin' the rounds in certain 
sections where we do business. But, on the other 
hand 

Leavitt. (Desperately) Excuse me, Mr. Swal- 
low, but I want you to meet Mr. Rawson. 

Justin. (Shaking hands with Swallow) How 
do you do, sir ! 

Swallow. (Setting by his cigar, with a lingering 
look of regret and fully entering the apartment) 
It's a privilege, sir, to shake hands with so notorious 
and honorable a bulwark of American finance! 
Your name, sir, is a synonym for a sound and con- 
servative commercial policy, not only in Hoboken, 
where we have the honor of doing the largest monu- 
ment business in the State of New Jersey, but 
equally throughout the length and breadth of my 
own native state of Indiana, the population-center 
of this great land of ours. To be known and 
favorably known, in Indiana, is therefore equivalent 
to being known everywhere! 

Justin. Indeed ! 

Anthony. (With amusement) There's logic 
for you ! 

Swallow. " Hark to the voice of Indiana," 
whisper the Sister States. "It is the. voice of the 
people ; and the voice of the people — Vox populi, 
Vox Dei — is the voice of God." 

Justin. (With veiled irony) You overwhelm 
me, sir ! 

Swallow. Thank you ; thank you, sir. You 
honor me too much in saying so. Yet yours, Sir, 
is in all truth an enviable lot. Fame, wealth, posi- 
tion, honors — all are yours ! From a pinnacle of 
self-satisfied serenity you may look down upon the 
puny struggles of your fellow men. This beautiful 
and luxurious villa, sir, is in itself, an emblem and 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 55 

monument to your success. This handsome young 
financeer, your son, is, as I well see, the pride and 
joy of his father's heart. 

Anthony. (To Leavitt) There you have me. 

Swallow. Nor need I ask whether the stalwart 
fellow I met yonder on the garden walk is also a 
scion of the House of Rawson: — No! for I saw the 
father in the son's eyes ! 

Anthony. (To Leavitt) Good for Geoffrey! 

Swallow. Congratulations, sir, upon the two of 
them : — a brace of Romans ! (Again shakes hands 
vehemently) 

Justin. Thank you. 

Swallow. (To Anthony) I make bold to 
postulate that your brother is your companion and 
rival in mounting the high ladder of plutocratic at- 
tainment. 

Anthony. Geoffrey's interests are along quite 
different lines. Lately he has taken up farming. 

Swallow. (Delighted to find a new theme for 
his eloquence) A farmer! Well, God prosper the 
farmer, say I, and say it with all my heart and soul. 
Why, Agriculture, sir, is the very bone and sinew 
of this great Commonwealth of ours. " Stay by the 
farm, young man " is my counsel to the restless, 
city-bedazzled youth of to-day. I have lived the 
life of cities ; I have known it to the innermost, 
worm-infested core 

Anthony. How interesting! 

Swallow. And it ain't what it's cracked up to 
be, my young friend ; no sir, not by a long sight ! 
Temptations spawn and fester in them busy marts 
of traffic: 

Anthony. Quite true. 

Swallow. Vice stalks abroad, attired in the 
spangled witcheries of Delilah. 

Anthony. Yes, yes. 

Swallow. (Infatuated with his own volubility) 



56 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

But in the country, far from the maddening crowd 
- — ah, there one may breathe God's own pure air, 
drink water, water, from the old oaken bucket that 
hangs in the well, and, in short, live as they was 
intended to live, by an all-wise, all-powerful 
Creator! (Stops, quite out of breath) 

Justin. I am surprised, sir, you did not take up 
oratory as a vocation. 

Swallow. Oratory ! Ha ! say, we're all like 
that in Indiana. We imbibe it with our mother's 
milk. The state resounds and echoes with it from 
boreal north to sunny south; and from Orient east 
to sunset west. It was this little oratorical gift of 
mine — my silver tongue, as friends are wont to 
speak of it — that first pointed the way to my success 
in the tombstone business. 

Justin. Indeed ! 

Swallow. My Indiana birthright it is that's 
landed me where I am ; and I'm grateful, and deeply 
grateful, to the Mother State that brought me forth. 

Justin. You ought to be. 

Swallow. (Remembering his errand) But 
say — where are the petticoats? 

Anthony. (Coolly) Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh 
and Miss de Salle will be down directly. (Turns 
to Leavitt) 

Swallow. (To Justin) And the old girl? 

Justin. (Chillingly) Mrs. de Salle is ill. I 
fear you will not have the chance to see her. 

Swallow. (To Justin) Look a-here. She 
didn't know I was a-comin', did she ? 

Justin. By some oversight, I neglected to inform 
her. 

Swallow. That's very cleverly said, sir; but I 
mean it quite contrariwise, and no offense taken or 
given. (With a manifest wink at Anthony) 

Anthony. (Not returning the wink) Mr. 
Swallow tells me he has the greatest curiosity to 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 57 

meet Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh, never having talked to 
a lady bearing a hyphenated name. 

Swallow. True it is, though I might add that I 
recently had the privilege of iillin' a order for a 
hyphenated tombstun, — four names, in all — thirty- 
six letters, includm' the hyphen, which counts ex- 
actly like a letter; and all to go on one line. 

Anthony. One line ! (Amused) 

Leavitt. Quite a problem ! 

Swallow. Not for me ! I recommended one o' 
these here broad stuns — broad and low. 

Anthony. Oh, yes ! 

Swallow. A block o' pink Rhode Island granite, 
polished so you could count your teeth in it, and on 
top, a sort of sofa-pilluh in white marble, with a 
very chaste fringe and tassuls at the corners. The 
whole effect was stylish, and up-to-date, 

Anthony. It sounds so ! 

Swallow. And the name, " Gwendolyn Fred- 
erika Threadingwell, hyphen, Smith " showed up 
most handsome, hardly seemin' to require the 
customary " In Memory of " above it. 

Justin. I can easily understand that. 

Swallow. I may declare without boastin' that 
our company pays more attention to the artistic 
features of its mortuary memorials than any other 
throughout the length and breadth of this coantry; 
and in case any of you in this house should ever be 
under the sad necessity — as Mr. Leavitt here is at 
the present moment — of considerin' a suitable monu- 
ment, even so modest a monument as a slab of 
granite so gray — as the hymn well says, gray being 
the cheapest variety — I take pleasure in leavin' a 
few o' my professional cards. (Is about to hand 
one to Leavitt but recollects himself) Oh, you've 
got one! (Passes cards to Anthony and Justin) 
All inquiries receive the promptest attention. Our 
representatives are pleased to make calls even when 



58 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

there is no immediate prospect of doin' any business 
— just to size up the field, as you might say. 

Justin. That's certainly enterprise. 

Swallow. Enterprise ! Well, that's what you 
need in the monument business. You never know 
when a good thing may drop your way. (Sud- 
denly recalling his errand) But, say Leavitt — what 
time does my train go? (Consulting watch) 

Leavitt. One-seventeen, Mr. Swallow. 

Swallow. Ahem! Say it don't look like I was 
goin' to have time to eat with the folks, does it? 

Justin. But I think there's a dining car on the 
train, Mr. Swallow. 

Swallow. Diner? Cough up a dollar for fancy 
victuals that ain't worth thirty cents? Not for 
Swallow ! 

Justin. (Curtly) I will have Kitson bring 
you a bite. 

Swallow. (Beaming) That will suit me to a T, 
thank you very kindly — if it wouldn't be much 
bother. 

Justin. (Impatiently) Oh, no, no ! Not at 
all. (Exits to porch) 

Swallow. (Perfectly at ease as he seats him- 
self with crossed legs and relights his cigar) Talk 
about your Easterners bein' stiff ! / never could 
see it. Wherever I go throughout the length and 
breadth of this great country of ours, I find a hand- 
shake and an open heart. I say, look for what you 
expect and that's what you'll see. You kow-tow to 
people and naturally they play the top-lofty. Treat 
'em like they was equals and old friends, and old 
friends they be thence and forever. (To Anthony) 
Say can't you hurry up your bunch of English 
swells? I came here to look 'em over, and I don't 
intend to get left. 

Anthony. Don't worry. There's plenty of time 
yet. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 59 

Swallow. (With patronizing heartiness) So 
you reckoned you was going to marry a dee Salle, 
did you, young man? (And he laughs at the comedy 
of it) 

Anthony. (Catitioningly) Don't speak so loud ! 

Swallow. (Naive as a schoolboy) Why, ain't 
the rest going to get let in on the joke? 

Anthony. Not until I know for certain there is 
a joke. I must see with my own eyes. 

Swallow. You'll see fast enough ! Just wait 
till she finds out who's here. If I can't knock her 
galley- west with one crook of my little finger, my 
name ain't Pete Swallow. 

Anthony. You certainly show no lack of con- 
fidence. 

Swallow. Why should I? I'd like to know. 
You've heard the whole story, yourself — don't it fit? 
Ain't it a perfect dove-tail? Don't it make her out 
to be the prettiest, smartest bunch of lies that ever 
come down the pike? — Oh, and it ain't as if she 
wasn't capable of it, neither, no, sir ! — the little 
monkey — the pert little monkey ! (Becomes lost in 
reminiscent dreams) 

Anthony. You haven't told us how this Delia 
Sayles looked. 

Swallow. (As in a trance of memory) Ain't 
I? Fourteen hands high she was — just up to my 
shoulder. Neat, trim, handsome, with the smartest 
little foot and ankle a girl ever showed ; and a 
waist, — well, sir it was a waist ; and when I say a 
waist, well — there's nothing more to be said. 
" Delia, you little puss," I used often to say to 
her, as she was a-settin' here, (Indicating his lap) 
of a late evenin' in front o' the old base-burner, — 
" Delia, you little puss, where'd you ever get a waist 
like that? Your ma ain't got one. Your Dad's a 
regular rhinoceros. But you — well, the wasp and the 
butterfly are your only rivals in the waist line, my 



60 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

dear." And she'd laught, and laugh, and like as not 
box my ears in play, and so it would go, night 
after night ! — Oh happy days ! Happy days ! 
(Dreams with pensive smile) 

Anthony. But her features, you haven't spoken 
of them. What were they like ? 

Swallow. (Still in his trance) A flower garden, 
sir, a flower garden. The rose vying with the lily — 
and her eyes — blue as forget-me-nots. 

Anthony. (Half to himself) Mrs. Bumpstead- 
Leigh has blue eyes. 

Swallow. Forget-me-nots! (Roused from 
trance) Forget-me-nots! Well, by gosh, she went 
and forgot me quick enough ! She gave me the go- 
by, and gave it good and hard. At first I was deeply 
embittered ; life was a howling wilderness of despair. 
Oh, but one gets over them things.— For a few 
weeks, young man, your loss will seem a big thing 
to you, very like ; t>ut then you'll begin to look about 
you again, and remember there's other fish in the 
sea. It's that thought lightens the tragedy. 

Anthony. It's not my case we're discussing, if 
you please. 

Swallow. Ahem ! A little wee bit sensitive, 
ain't ye ! Well, I don't blame ye, young feller. I 
was myself. I'd wince. I'd chew my lip. I'd flare 
up against my best friend! Oh, but. if I hadn't 
been love-blind, I might have known all along what 
was booked to happen. She was an odd kid — 
Delia Sayles — restless, finicky, with more ideers in 
her head than does a woman any good. And, for 
stage-acting — well, I never seen Burnhart, but once 
out in Indianapolis I ran up against that Guinea 
headliner, Dooze — Elinora Dooze : you heard of 
her, of course? She was playing Adrienne Van- 
couver the night I saw her. Pooh ! Pooh ! You 
call that acting? Why, my little Delia could put the 
kibosh all over her, and never let on she was acting 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 61 

at all ! That was just the trouble, ye never could 
tell! (Enter Kitson with tray of eatables for 
Swallow) Well, I reckon her game's called on 
her this time. It's her finish. (As he now looks 
over the tray critically) Thanks. — Say, waiter, 
ain't you got any English mustard in the house? 

Kitson. Yes, sir. 

Swallow. Well, bring me some mustard and a 
cup of coffee and some loaf sugar. 

Kitson. (Much insulted) Anything else, sir? 

Swallow. Well, throw in a couple of toothpicks, 
and I'll be fixed first rate. (Exit Kitson) 

(Enter Adelaide by stairs followed by Violet.) 

Leavitt. Here are the ladies now. 

Adelaide. Ah, Mr. Leavitt — this is delightful. 

{Never was Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh more unap- 
proachably the lady of high degree, brilliant, 
sure of herself, dazzlingly alert and dominating; 
and of course she carries her lorgnette, em- 
battled woman's unmatchable zveapon.) 

Swallow. (Jumping up with a bound) Delia 
Sayles ! ! 

Adelaide. (Examining this stranger zvith a cer- 
tain air of startled offence) I beg your pardon. 
(Bewildered, to Anthony) Why, Anthony dear — 
what is this ? I had not been informed. 

Anthony. (Wincing in spite of himself, but 
then, with steady incisivencss) Permit me, Mrs. 
Bumpstead-Leigh, to introduce Mr. Swallow — Mr. 
Peter Swallow, of Indiana. 

Adelaide. (Distantly) Pleased, I'm sure. (She 
turns to Violet as if considering the advisability of 
withdrawal) Violet, dear, I fear we have come 
down too soon. 



62 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Swallow. Not at all, not at all, madam. I have 
only a few minutes to stay, and I was particularly 
anxious to get in a few words with you. 

Adelaide. Words with me? (And again she 
seems about to withdraw, much puzzled, you would 
say, and certainly somezvhat offended) 

Anthony. (Anxious to account acceptably for 
the intruding presence) Mr. Swallow is ambitious 
to make the acquaintance of an English lady of your 
position, Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh. He will consider 
it a great favor on your part if you will consent to 
stay. 

Adelaide. (Still distantly) I see. Oh, charmed, 
I'm sure. (Turns ignoringly away, and joins 
Leavitt on the other side of the room) 

Anthony. (Continuing the introductions watch- 
fully) Miss de Salle; Mr. Swallow. 

Violet. (Cordially and with some manner) I 
am so pleased to meet another of Mr. Rawson's 
friends. But where are the rest, Anthony? — Have 
they deserted you? 

Swallow. No matter about the rest, Miss. It 
was you and your sister I wanted to see. — The rest 
can go ding ! 

Violet. (Puzzled) Dear, dear! Is that a com- 
pliment, Mr. Swallow? 

Swallow. Take it whatever way you like, young 
lady. I know what I mean by it, and that's enough 
for now. 

Violet. Oh, dear. You've aroused my curiosity. 
I must tell Adelaide about it ! (Joins Leavitt and 
Adelaide and converses) 

(Swallow returning to his meal, speaks apart to 
Anthony.) 

Swallow. (Profoundly intrigued) Well, I take 
the count ! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 63 

Anthony. (Rather brusquely) You went wide 
of the mark. That's clear S 

Swallow. (Stoutly) The young one stumps 
me. The other — well, r/rie looks like Delia Sayles, 
and she don't look like Delia Sayles. Darn'd if I 
know which way she looks most. — But I ain't done 
yet, no, sir! (Takes his plate to sofa, Right, and 
begins to eat with enjoyment) 

Adelaide. (To Leavitt) Pray don't apologize 
my dear Mr. Leavitt. I wish to be familiar with 
every phase of your complex social problems over 
here. (And they stroll up to the piano and continue 
a vivid conversation) 

Violet. (Sitting on the sofa beside Mr. Swal- 
low, ingratiatingly) I'm going to sit down by you, 
Mr. Swallow. I know we two will get along 
famously together. 

Swallow. (In midst of mouthful) I usually 
manage to get along with the young ones. 

Violet. I shudder to think how many hearts you 
have captured. 

Swallow. (Immensely flattered, shaking his 
fork at her) Now — now ! 

Anthony. (To Violet with irony) You will 
find Mr. Swallow a brilliant conversationalist. 

Swallow. (Pleased) I don't know as I can do 
myself justice, while I'm takin' in food; but T 'll try 
to live up to my reputation. — Say where's that 
waiter with the mustard? 

Violet. It's really too bad, Mr. Swallow, you 
can't stay to lunch. You would love it ! And then, 
too, we shall have seen so very little of each other 
before you must go ! 

Swallow. Quite true, quite true, young lady. 
But it's the same way all through this life of ours. 
We go and come like autumn leaves before the blast ; 
here to-day, to-morrow whither? Perhaps — as my 



64 MRS, BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

callin' so frequently reminds me — perhaps under the 
sod. 

Violet. {Naively) Ah, what a beautiful senti- 
ment ! You must repeat it for my sister. — Adelaide. 
I have asked Mr. Swallow to repeat an exquisite 
thought he has just expressed. 

Adelaide. (Raising her lorgnette) Mr. Swal- 
low ? Oh yes, — pray let us hear it. 

Swallow. (Handing his plate to Violet) Hold 
this, little one! I was simply remarking — (Rises 
and approaches Adelaide) Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh, 
upon the transitory nature of all life ; and I said it 
might be compared to autumn leaves, which go and 
come, whence nor whither who can say? 

Adelaide. (With a humorously rapt look) Who 
indeed! (Graciously condescending) Charming — 
charming — and so very original. Might I inquire, do 
you write poetry? 

Swallow. (Sitting) I am said to be pretty 
slick at turning an epitaph, but along other lines I 
have deserted the Muse since the age of twenty-five 
years. — Yet, now that we are speakin' of Po'try, 
Madam, my thoughts are carried backward to those 
mere youthful days and to faces that were nigh 
in the long ago ; and I am strangely reminded by 
your countenance of one who was very dear to me 
when I was still, as the poet Gray has it, a youth 
to fortune and to fame unknown. 

Aelaide. (Sympathetic, — with a wink of im- 
mense amusement at Leavitt) Fancy! I am sorry 
if I have awakened painful memories of one gone 
before ! 

Swallow. "Gone before!" That's just what 
she ain't — leastways not to my knowledge. The go- 
by is what she gave me. That was in Missionary 
Loop, Indiana, where I resided until my twenty- 
seventh year. Was you ever there, might I ask ? 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 65 

Adelaide. (With a blank look) Washington 
was our home, Mr. Sparrow 

Swallow. Swallow, if you please, ma'am. 

Adelaide. (Utterly ignoring the correction) 
Washington was our home in the old days. I have 
traveled very little in this country ; but my present 
visit teaches me how much I have missed by not 
knowing it better. Is this Missionary Loo an in- 
teresting town ? I do not remember to have met the 
name in Baedecker. 

Violet. (With great interest) I suppose Mis- 
sionary Loo was one of your early settlers who 
carried the Gospel to the Indians ! 

Swallow. (Rising) Loop, Miss, Loop. Not 
Loo. 

Adelaide. Loop, my dear, Loop. — Make a note 
of it! 

Swallow. Sister's got it. The town is chiefly 
famous, ladies, because it was the home of old Jim 
Sayles, proprietor of Sayles's Sissapoola Indian 
Herb Remedies, which are known and used up and 
down the length and breadth of this country. — 

Adelaide. Indian Herb Remedies ! Fancy ! 

Violet. How very romantic! 

Swallow. Well, I don't know what mottah is 
graved on Old Jim's headstone in Missionary Loop ; 
but I can tell you what it ought to 'a been :- -H — 
O— A— X. 

Adelaide. (In doubt) H — O — A — X-hoax? 
Have I the word aright? — Oh! I begin to under- 
stand ! — Violet, my dear, did you notice the very 
interesting Americanism Mr. Swallow has just given 
us — H — O — A — X — ? I have heard of it before; a 
corruption I believe, of our English Hocus Pocus. 
So this Mr. Sayles of Missionary Loop made pre- 
tentions for his remedies which were not warranted 
by facts. Dear me ! How very dreadful ! 



66 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Swallow. Yes. Wasn't it! and here's another 
for you, madam. Old Jim had two daughters. 

Adelaide. Two daughters ! Fancy ! And did 
they have Indian names also? 

Swallow. Well, the name of the oldest, ma'am, 
was Delia, and to me she plighted her troth. 

Adelaide. (Sympathetically) Ah, and it is she, 
then, who is the painful memory, Mr. Shallow? 

Swallow. (Balked for a moment by her new 
mis-nomenclature but too resolute to be diverted 
from the scent) Yes — and may I venture to ask 
you^ madam, one question outright and flat-foot? 

Adelaide. (Immensely entertained) Flat-foot? 
— Oh, why, certainly! Flatfoot! 

Swallow. And you promise to answer it in the 
same way? 

Adelaide. You mean flat-feet? 

Swallow. I do. 

Adelaide. (Exchanging an amused look with 
Leavitt) Very well. I am at your disposition. 

Swallow. (With direct challenge) What was 
your father's business? 

Adelaide. (Blankly) Business — Business — 
Papa ? 

Swallow. Wiry, didn't your Pa have a business, 
lady? 

Adelaide. Why, no ! — not in the legitimate, ac- 
cepted sense of the word. Oh, it would be quite 
improper to refer to papa's activities as business, — 
I mean, of course, except in a very special under- 
standing of the term. 

Swallow. Well, what was he, then? 

Adelaide. (Filially tender) Dear papa was a 
philanthropist. 

Swallow. A what? 

Adelaide. His life was dedicated to Humanity. 
His name is blessed to-day in a thousand homes. I 
find it hard to speak to a stranger of poor dear 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 67 

papa : but you see you had my promise in advance. 
(And the subject is evidently closed henceforth) 

Swallow. (Recovering himself zvith a great 
effort after this momentary knock-out) We was 
speaking, you remember, about this here Sayles 
family; and I was about to remark that after the 
death of Old Jim, and the moving away of the 
family from Missionary Loop, it got noised about 
that they had changed their name to de Salle and 
was residing in the National Capital. 

Adelaide. (Incredulously) In Washington? 

Swallow. (Doggedly) The same, Madam. 

Adelaide. Dear me ! How very odd ! If such 
were the case, I am at a loss to understand why we 
should never have known of it, — the name, as you 
see, being identical with ours. Violet, dear, did you 
ever hear of any other de Salles in Washington? 

Violet. Never. But probably these people Mr. 
Swallow tells of had no social standing. 

Adelaide. Oh, of course ! I understand that per- 
fectly. Yet I wonder the letters never went wrong. 
— Ah, but now a thought comes ! Did not the family 
of whom you speak, Mr. Wallow, spell the prefix 
with the Capital D? 

Swallow. (Baffled) I dunno anything about 
that. 

Adelaide. (Giving instruction with authority) 
The name de Salle is spelled in a number of ways, 
though our branch of the family has invariably em- 
ployed the small D — comme en frangais, n'est-ce 
pas? — le petit signe de la noblesse! — But I remem- 
ber even to have seen it spelled, in an old volume 
of memoirs — (And she seems to search her 
memory) Annales d'une famille ancienne de la 
Nourmandie, par Geoff roi — yes, par Geoffroi ! — as 
a single word thus — Capital D, E, small S, A, double 
L, E, — curious wasn't it ! — in which case it would 



68 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

afford an interesting analogy, would it not, with the 
Scotch MacDonald, which, as you of course know, 
is capable of at least three variants. 

Swallow. (Flabbergasted) A three bagger! 

Adelaide. (To Leavitt, immensely amused) 
A what ? — Oh, how delicious ! 

Swallow. (Recovering again, and supplying 
by loudness what he has lost in confidence) Well, 
as I said, the young lady to whom I was betrothed 
was named Delia, and it seems to me that you are 
the exact and identical image of her! 

Adelaide. (Seeming slightly offended) Indeed, 
sir! 

Violet. (Merrily) I do believe Mr. Swallow 
is hinting, Adelaide, that you would be a welcome 
substitute ! 

Adelaide. (Reprovingly) Violet, dear, you 
know how I dislike to have a jest made of sacred 
subjects ! I am sure Mr. Swallow could have no 
idea whatever of exceeding the bounds of the 
strictest propriety in my presence. 

Swallow. (With violent conviction) Never 
again, Pete! Never again! (Rising) 

Adelaide. (As if startled) Never again? 
What does he mean? Have I made some terrible 
faux pas? Have I been gauche? 

Swallow. Oh, that's all right, madam. It ain't 
often that Pete Swallow puts his foot into the 
wrong puddle. I will say that for myself ! 

Adelaide. (With concern to Leavitt) Oh, but 
I don't understand. The poor fellow seems quite 
disordered. 

Leavitt. No cause for concern, dear Lady ! It's 
likely nothing but indigestion. 

Geoffrey. (Entering hastily from porch) Ex- 
cuse me, Mr. Swallow, but it's getting very near 
your train time. You'll have to hurry ! 

Leavitt. (To Adelaide) Pardon me! (He 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 69 

starts quickly for the porch) I told my man to have 
the machine here in good season. Has he come 
yet? 

Geoffrey. Yes, he's at the gate. 

(Exit Leavitt as Kitson enters zvith Swallow's 
coat, etc.) 

Swallow. Well, I reckon it's time I was a-hikin' 
anyhow. — There's no bokays comin' my way, I 
notice. 

(Kitson helps him into automobile coat.) 

Violet. (Rising quickly and starting to leave the 
room; but she pauses for one eager tremulous word 
zvith Geoffrey) Nobody'll ever forgive me, but 
I'm going to do it ! I'm going to do it ! (Exit, fol- 
lowed after an instant by Geoffrey) 

Adelaide. But surely you are not going without 
a word of good-bye, Mr. Swallow? 

Swallow. (Coming to her for his valedictory) 
One word, lady, and that's all. Time and tide wait 
for no man ! and in the end Death cuts down all ! 
The moral is : get busy ! As a detective I may be a 
fizzle: but as a monumentalist, I'm right on the 
spot — with the goods ! There's my card ! One of 
these days you might be requiring a nice, up-to-date, 
artistic memorial. You can't tell ! You English are 
pretty slow getting anywhere, but you do die ! Look 
over our prices and you'll see why America heads 
the civilized world in the tombstone business. Put 
her there! — (And he offers his hand heartily) — 
You're the genuine article, all right ! The real im- 
ported variety ! (Exit) 

Adelaide. Dear, dear ! Really imported ! How 
very reassuring! (To Kitson) Kitson, kindly as- 
certain whether Mrs. de Salle is feeling better ; and 



70 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

say that we are just sitting down to luncheon. (Exit 
Kitson upstairs. Adelaide goes to porch door and 
waves handkerchief blithely) Ta, ta, Mr. Tomb- 
stone — Bon voyage! (Turns merrily to Anthony) 
Well, dear Anthony ! You provided us rare and 
novel entertainment. Peter Swallow, Esquire, will 
not soon be forgotten by your English guests, I 
promise you. (Studies Swallow's card) This is 
my souvenir ! Priceless ! " Peter Swallow, Monu- 
mentalist." 

Anthony. I am delighted you found him amus- 
ing. 

Adelaide. " Amusing ! " Epoch-Making ! 

Anthony. Then it's too bad he could only stay 
a few minutes ! 

Adelaide. Momentous minutes, my dear 
Anthony. Monumentalistic minutes ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Entering from stairs) Adelaide ! 

Adelaide. Why it is the dear little mother her- 
self. (Hurrying to her and assisting her across the 
room) How lovely that you are better! Is the 
naughty vertigo quite, quite gone? 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh, yes — it is quite passed away. 
(Grande dame manners) 

Anthony. Then you will lunch with us? (She 
nods) I will tell the others. (Exits) 

Mrs. de Salle. (With a gasping outbreak) 
Dell! Dell! Is it over? 

Adelaide. (With a flash of Yankee triumph) 
Licked 'em, ma ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Gulping) Oh my God! 

Adelaide. Yes, licked 'em ! Skinned 'em alive ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Sinking into chair) Oh, Delia, 
it knocks the wind plumb out of me ! 

Adelaide. Sh ! 

(Enter from porch Miss Rawson and Mrs. 
Le&uvTt, Anthony, Justin, Leavitt, and 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 71 

Geoffrey. Miss Rawson comes to Mrs. de 
Salle and seems to felicitate her.) 

Mrs. Leavitt. (To Anthony as they enter) 
I simply would not come in till he had gone ! 
Anthony, I shall never, never forgive you for per- 
mitting Stephen to bring that menagerie-escape 
here ! 

Anthony. Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh was just 
thanking me for bringing him ! 

Mrs. Leavitt. But what must she think of him 
as an American type ? It makes me shudder ! 

Leavitt. (To Justin) But for the train whistle 
he'd have talked till Doomsday. 

Kitson. (Appearing at porch door) Lunch is 
served, madam. 

Miss Rawson. (Glancing about the assemblage) 
Shall we not go out to the porch? — But where is 
Violet? 

Justin. Yes — where is she? 

Miss Rawson. We will wait just a moment, 
Kitson. 

Anthony. (Starting out) Perhaps I had better 
—Oh! 

Violet. (Trips in, gleefully laughing and breaks 
out very clearly in an excited voice) Oh, Mamma, 
did Adelaide tell you about it? It was such fun! 
He never suspected a single thing! I don't think 
anybody in all the world could have believed we 
really did come from Missionary Loop, Indiana! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Paralysed) Ollie! 

(All the company evince great astonishment.) 

Justin. Missionary Loop ! What does the child 
mean. 

Adelaide. Violet! What ghastly joke is this? 
Violet. (Standing with uplifted face, quivering 



72 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

zvith exaltation, resolution and terror) It isn't a 
joke — I'm in earnest — I'm telling — the truth! 

Anthony. The Truth! (Amazement suddenly 
gives place zvith him to conviction and terrible anger) 

Adelaide. (With a stricken laugh, making a 
final desperate effort to gather her forces. She 
comes to Violet and tries to lead her upstairs) 
Violet! Come to your room! (To Miss Rawson) 
It is all the result of excitement. It will soon pass 
off. All she needs is absolute quiet ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Corning to them) Yes — 
absolute quiet — that's all she needs! (Quakingly) 

Violet. (With the same rapt, exultant coun- 
tenance) I've said it! I've said it! Oh! 

Anthony. (Denouncingly) Yes, you've said 
it! So you have been trapped at last! Yes, the 
truth has come out! (To the assemblage, bitterly) 
Permit me to introduce the wonderful Sayles Trio- — 
from Missionary Loop, Indiana. 

(And for the moment the three de Salles are stand- 
ing in an odd huddled group, three in a row.) 

Justin. What does this mean? 

Anthony. (Swelling up zvith righteous indigna- 
tion) Oh, do not imagine I am unprepared for this ! 
I have been watching them. I had my reasons for 
bringing Swallow here ! — Former sweetheart of our 
precious Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh, in the days when 
she was still Delia Sayles — one of the two daughters 
of Old Jim Sayles ! 

Miss Rawson. (Aghast) The patent medicine 
charlatan ! 

Anthony. Sissapoola Indian Herb Remedies ! 
Favorite Stomach Elixir! 

(Recoil of horror on the part of all except Geoffrey 
who is admiring Violet's courage and laugh- 
ing with boyish glee.) 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 73 

Miss Rawson. Oh, it cannot be true ! 

Anthony. It is true ! 

Mrs. Leavitt. Oh, it is too terrible! 

Justin. If it is the truth, it is high time we knew 
it! 

Violet. (Almost with ecstacy) It is the truth. 

Miss Rawson. She's actually boasting of it ! 

Anthony. And it's but a fraction of the whole 
shameful story ! Imposters from the start ! Mounte- 
banks, Parvenues ! (And he strides up and down 
before the guilty trio) 

Justin. Tricksters ! 

Miss Rawson. Cheats ! 

Mrs. Leavitt. Ghastly! 

Leavitt. Infamous ! 

Anthony. Yes, you are found out at last ! 

Miss Rawson. And just in time. 

(Mrs. de Salle has quite collapsed, and is wringing 
her hands. Violet has zvinced somezvhat under 
the invective, but stands her ground with 
bravely shut lips, and an unflinching smile. 
Adelaide's eyes glitter and she smiles electri- 
cally, as if biding her time for the fatal counter- 
stroke.) 

Adelaide. (With metallic, stabbing incisiveness) 
What ! are all the stones cast ? Oh, pray do not 
spare us ! The exercise should prove a good 
stimulant to your appetite ! (Suavely self-contained 
in the midst of all this consternation) I be- 
lieve there is an afternoon train, is there not. 
Anthony ? It will not take us long to pack. 

Mrs. Leavitt. (Excitedly to the Rawson family) 
And till then, why should not all of you come over 
to Willownelds ? You — er — I am crazy to show 
you Mr. Swallow's design for the new monument. 
It is the sweetest thing ! 

Leavitt. Yes, do come! 



74 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Anthony. So kind of you to suggest it. 

Justin. We shall intrude upon your hospitality 
only until Mrs. Sayles and her daughters have de- 
parted. 

Miss Rawson. (With cutting significance) Do 
you think it would be quite safe ? 

Adelaide. (Ironically) Why not take your 
ancestral plate with you, madam? 

Miss Rawson. (Regaining dignity — to Kitson) 
Kitson will give these ladies every assistance in his 
power in their preparations for departure. We 
shall spend the afternoon at Willowfields. (Justin 
and Leavitt exit, to porch. Miss Rawson turns 
with gracious smile to Mrs. Leavitt and takes her 
arm) Thank you with all my heart, dear Lottie. 
(Flanked by Anthony and Mrs. Leavitt she exits 
without turning to look again at the de Salles) 
It makes things so much easier for us all. (Off- 
stage) For when all is said and done 

Geoffrey. (Who has lingered at one side, now 
steps quickly to Violet who stands apart from her 
relatives) Bully ! Great ! May I come back bye- 
and-bye ? 

Violet. (Dazed) Oh, I don't know. 
(Exit Geoffrey.) 

Kitson. (At door) Lunch is served, Madam. 

Mrs, de Salle. (Wailing still) Does He mean 
to insult us, too? 

Adelaide. No thank you, Kitson, we shall not 
trouble you just now. (Kitson exits) Come, 
mamma. We must not lose time. Violet, stay here 
and enjoy your brilliant triumph! (And she exits 
by stairs) 

Mrs. de Salle. Yes, gloat ! Gloat ! You wicked 
girl ! You have betrayed the mother that begat you ! 
— ( Wailing) Delia ! Delia ! 

Adelaide. (Above) Come, mamma! 

Curtain 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 75 



ACT III 

Scene: Same, ten minutes later. Violet, aban- 
doned by her relatives, is seated by small table, 
Right. The reaction from her moments of 
exaltation has conic; her spirits are drooping 
and tears very near the surface. Kitson enters 
zvith plate of lunch dainties, which he sets doiun 
beside her. 

Kitson. {Clearing his throat to attract attention) 
There, Miss. I took the liberty of fetching you a 
mouthful of lunch, thinking as perhaps it might 
brace ye up a bit. 

Violet. {Passively) Thank you. That was 
nice of you, Kitson. {She plays listlessly with food) 

Kitson. I'm glad if it's to your taste, Miss. 
Very glad, I'm sure. (But he makes no move to go, 
and there is an interval of silence. Again he clears 
his throat) Ahem ! 

Violet. Is there something else? 

Kitson. Well, if I might make bold to speak 
such a thing, Miss, I thought I would like to tell 
you as in my humble opinion Miss Rawson and the 
rest was a bit too vi'lent just now. 

Violet. (Without interest) You think so? 

Kitson. No doubt it were very wrong of you to 
be deceiving everybody as you did, leading 'em to 
think you had blue blood in your veins when you 
have none ; still, and at the same time, had they 
but seen it as / do, they would have esteemed it a 
very rare privilege to have extended their hospitality 
to the offspring of Old Jim Sayles, the Sufferer's 
Friend. — (He comes to her, scrutinizes her coun- 
tenance intently) — And now I observe ye close to, 
Miss, I can trace the resemblance quite plain. 



76 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Violet. (Smiling faintly) You mean to the 
portrait on the bottles of the Elixir? 

Kitson. The same, Miss, the same. The like- 
ness is unmistakable. I could single you out in a 
thousand. 

Nina. (Entering by stairs and crossing Right 
toward the library) That's right, Mr. Kitson. 
You're giving Miss Violet something to eat. She'd 
ought to have a good big appetite. (And there can 
be no possible doubt as to where her sympathies are 
placed) 

Kitson. (With lofty irony) Thank you kindly 
for your approval, young lady. 

Nina. That's all right. No charge ! — And if 
you'd like to know the rest of what I think about 
this affair, I'll tell you that, too, some time, when I 
haven't got quite so much to do. (Exits Right) 

Kitson. Hear, hear ! (Turning again to Violet) 
Ah, yes, Miss. And this is what I was about to say. 
That many and many a time, as I've poured out me 
two dessert spoonfuls of that famous specific, I've 
said to myself, " Him as invented this wonderful 
Elixir must a' been a wonderful man — and, may I 
add, a good man, to boot." Why, young lady, 
there's not a single human ill or ail, to my thinking, 
which that stomach elixir don't give a whack to — if 
only, as you might say, in passing. It saved the life 
of Mrs. Kitson winter before last, when three 
doctors with one voice had given her up. 

Violet. Is that really true. How nice ! 

Kitson. It was indeed, Miss. And when she 
finally did go, it was with a very different complaint 
to the one she started with. 

Nina. (Re-entering r. zvith books, an English 
Weekly, and a scarf) Well, I'm sure Miss Violet 
ought to be very grateful to you, Kitson, for helping 
her while away the time so nicely. Oh, drat it! 
(Her books have slipped to the floor, and she stoops 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 77 

to gather them up) But what I say is — if that's of 
any interest to you — that when young misses hardly 
out of their teens take it on themselves to run their 
family's private affairs 

Violet. {Interrupting with quiet decision) Isn't 
Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh waiting for you, Nina? 

Nina. Yes, ma'am, she is ! And I wisht I had a 
dozen sets of hands and feet instead of only one so's 
I could be even more use to her in this hour of 
trouble. 

Adelaide. {Appearing on stairs) Nina! 

Nina. {Startled) Yes, Madam. 

Adelaide. Briggs is waiting to pack the books. — 
{Descending) 

(Ni*na, always impressed by Mrs. Bumpstead- 
Leigh's superiority, exits without a word, by 
stairs.) 

Kitson. (To Adelaide) Is there anything I can 
do, Madam? 

Adelaide. No, Kitson, thank you. Nothing at 
present, I believe. (Kitson exits. Adelaide paces 
room in intent, vivid thought, watching Violet) 
Well, Violet, how are you enjoying yourself? {A 
silence) I hope you're not too fatigued, dear, after 
your exertions ! — An emotional scene like that must 
be very taxing to the nerves ! {A silence) And you 
did carry it off brilliantly — oh, brilliantly ! No one 
could deny that. So much elan, so much fervor, 
such an acute sense of the spectacular ! Oh, if I 
only had a photograph of it ! I would have it in- 
scribed — let me see — " Truth Crushed to Earth 
shall Rise Again " — and I would have it framed — 
beautifully framed — in gingerbread and carraway 
seeds. The idea fascinates me! {Sits) 

Violet. Adelaide, there's no use making fun of 
me. I did what I did because I had to. {In spite 
of herself the tears come at last) 



yS MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. That's right — Squinny ! — It'll do a lot 
of good at this stage of the game. The question is, 
what's to be done next? Have you got anything 
to say? 

(Mrs. de Salle enters by stairs eager to know what 
is going on. She is in a hasty negligee, evi- 
dently having left the family packing in the 
midst. ) 

Violet. No. — Only I've made up my mind about 
one thing. 

Adelaide. (Promptly, before Violet has a 
chance to say the words) You mean you won't go 
back to England again! (And she turns to Mrs. de 
Salle) Heard the latest Ma? 

Mrs. de Salle. No. No. What's happened 
now? (Hastily bringing a chair. The three mem- 
bers of the de Salle family now form a close group. 
Violet in the middle, quiveringly resolute ; Adelaide 
at her Right, undaunted and inconquerable; Mrs. de 
Salle, as matriarchal as possible) 

Adelaide. Violet will tell you. Turn up your 
eyes, dearie, like a Virgin Martyr ; wave one arm 
like a semaphore, and speak ! 

Violet. (Quietly decisive) I've made up my 
mind not to go back to England again. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Tremendously) Hey? Not 
go back to England ? — Well, well ! Now I reckon 
you'd better just hurry up and tell me what you 
mean ! 

Violet. I've made up my mind, and that's all 
there is about it. 

Mrs. de Salle. Made up your mind, have ye? 
Now I'd like to know who gave ye the right to make 
up your mind? — Set up and answer me! (Pause) 

Adelaide. What are you going to do ? 

Violet. I haven't decided ! — earn my living, 
somehow. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 79 

Mrs. de Salle. (Cackling) Earn her living — « 
listen ! why she never done a stroke of honest work 
in her life. (Pause) 

Adelaide. (Dryly) Are ye going to be a trained 
nurse ? 

Violet. (Startled) Well — I — 1 was thinking 
about it. 

Adelaide. (As if reading headlines) " Young 
heroine, disappointed in love, devotes herself to her 
suffering fellow men." 

Violet. (With siurdiness) I've always thought 
I'd like nursing! 

Mrs. de Salle. Ye have ! — Why, you wouldn't 
know how to nurse a sick flea. 

Adelaide. I suppose you'll make a specialty of 
handsome young parsons, afflicted with heart 
trouble. 

Violet. I don't think I'll ever marry. 

Mrs. de Salle. Well, I reckon you're safe there. 
I certainly'd pity the man who got mashed on you. 

Adelaide. (With finality) Violet, we sail on 
Saturday's boat for Southampton. That much is 
settled. 

Mrs. de Salle. (The faithful echo) Yes, that 
much is settled ! Do ye hear me? 

Violet. Well, if I go back, I go back with my 
real name. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Mightily) Your real name's de 
Salle : and de Salle's the name you'll go back with. 
Yes it is : don't you dare contradict me ! 

Violet. My name is Sayles. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Crushingly) Ollie! — Are you 
absolutely without any moral sense whatever? 

Violet. (Desperate) Oh! 

Mrs. de Salle. When I think of the plight you've 
brought us to, I feel I'd like to give you a good 
smart licking. I've a mind to do it, right here this 
minute, too ! 



8o MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. Not now, Ma. We're too busy. 

Mrs. de Salle. Well, I certainly would like to 
learn her, for once, who is boss in this family. 

Adelaide. Now listen to me, both of you ! 

Mrs. de Salle. Yes ? 

Adelaide. If either of you let out a scrap of this 
fracas in Trumpington-on-Swell, I'll fry ye alive. 
(She crosses her arms and her eyes fairly glitter) 

Mrs. de Salle. (A close second) Yes, yes. 
There ! Do you hear that, Ollie ? 

Adelaide. I'll go the limit. There isn't anything 
I won't do to keep this story under. Wherever I 
see a head, I'll strike ! 

Mrs. de Salle. Yes. Yes. So will I ! 

Adelaide. No you won't. — You keep your mouth 
shut ! That's your job ! 

Mrs. de Salle. Oh, all right, Delia. 

Adelaide. (Thinking with all her energy) I 
shall explain we found something a little off color 
with the Rawsons. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Fervidly playing second) Yes. 
Yes. 

Adelaide. They didn't quite measure up. 

Mrs. de Salle. No. No. 

Adelaide. There was a yellow streak in the 
family. 

Mrs. de Salle. Yes ! 
• Adelaide. No one could expect us to get mixed 
up with people like that. 

Mrs. de Salle. No — sir — ee ! 

Adelaide. And so, just in the nick of time, 
Mamma definitely put her foot down on the match. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Illustrating the act, forcefully) 
Yes, I did; and good and hard, too. 

Violet. (Excitedly) But I tell you I won't go 
back ! You can go along without me ! I'm going to 
live my own life ! You can explain things to suit 
yourselves. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 81 

Adelaide. Ollie, I don't care if you are nineteen 
years old, Ma ought to give you that lickin'. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Swelling up with indignation) 
Are you a child of mine, or are you a viper? — 
Answer me that ! Answer me, I say ! Answer me ! 

Adelaide. Yes, Ma, she's a viper — and you're a 
whale. 

Mrs. de Salle. A whale ! 

Adelaide. Yes, a spouting whale, and I guess 
I'll start a menagerie. 

(Enter Nina by stairs.) 

Adelaide. Well, Nina, what is it? 

Nina. (Excitedly incoherent) Briggs — ma'am 
— the packing 

Adelaide. Oh, very well, I'll be up directly. 
(Rising. Exit Nina, Left) Violet, this pow-wow's 
not done yet. When I'm ready for you, I'll send 
down. Come along Ma. We got to vamoose. 
(Starting for stairs) 

Mrs. de Salle. (Reluctantly follozving) But 
are ye goin' to let her set there and defy us to our 
faces? Well, I guess not! That's not my way of 
runnin' a family. — Now, Ollie, don't you dare set 
hand or foot out of this room till you've decided to 
mind your Ma. I've said it before ; and T say it 
now for the last time : — I'll have no Disobedience ! 

Adelaide. (On stairs) Oh, quit it, ma, and 
come on. (Exits) 

Mrs. de Salle. (Submissive) Yes, Dell. 
(Exits by stairs. Violet sits motionless with set 
lips, for a moment, and is not azvare of the presence 
of Geoffrey, who enters quickly from the porch) 

Geoffrey. Hello, there ! — all by your lonesome ? 

Violet. Yes. (The note of despondency in her 
voice startles him) 

Geoffrey. Why, what's the matter? 



82 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Violet. Oh, Geoffrey, honestly and truly I meant 
to do what was right, I did ! 

Geoffrey. (With vehemence and tenderness) 
You did do what was right. By gee, you did the 
pluckiest thing I ever saw a girl do. I didn't sup- 
pose they had it in 'em. 

Violet. Oh, but — but I'm awfully mixed up 
about things. You see — Oh, don't you think — per- 
haps — it was rather — selfish and nasty of me, Geof- 
frey, just to save myself, and make the others pay 
the price for it? 

Geoffrey. Save vourself ? Is that what you call 
it! . 

Violet. Yes ! Yes ! Because now I'm free. 
(Simply, earnestly, with increasing self-confidence) 
I mean, I'm just myself: — can't you see, Geoffrey? 
Everything else has gone. — Oh, and I am glad ! 

Geoffrey. I'm glad, too, by jimminy. Only I 
don't feel as if I know you this way. There's some- 
thing different about you. 

Violet. Is there ? — Well I fancy you're right. I 
just feel different all through and through. It 
seems as if I could breathe ! It seems — oh, it seems 
as if I could fly ! It does honestly. I never felt 
like that before. 

Geoffrey. But what's made all this change, 
Violet? I mean, what was it started you off? 

Violet. (After a pause, very simply and 
directly) You. 

Geoffrey. (Deeply startled) Me? — Oh, no! 
You don't mean that ! 

Violet. Yes, I do. 

Geoffrey. But how ? 

Violet. Just — by being you. 

Geoffrey. Oh, but — don't you know, Violet? I 
don't count. I'm a failure. (Violet denies it with 
a cry) What? — You don't think so? 

Violet. (With all her soul) How could I? 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 83 

Geoffrey. {With wonder and rapture) Violet! 
Do you mean it ? — Do you mean it ? — Will this stay 
true? {He takes her in his arms) 

Violet. Always, forever, Geoffrey, if you want 
me! 

Geoffrey. Want you ! {He kisses her ex- 
uberantly) 

Violet. I have truly belonged to you since the 
first day, although I didn't know it. 

Geoffrey. Violet, I feel as if I'd loved you all my 
life, only I never found it out until a week ago. 

{They are like a pair of kids in their happiness.) 

Violet. {Surprised) Oh, but I thought you 
didn't like me at all — at least not after the very 
beginning. 

Geoffrey. Did I manage to be a little nasty? 

Violet. Yes, dear, and I respect you for it very 
much ! 

Nina. {Entering by stairs, with a flounce) 
Pardon, Miss. 

Violet. What is it, Nina. 

Nina. Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh says you're to 
come straight upstairs ! 

Geoffrey. {To Violet) Look here. Why 
don't you ask her to come here? 

Violet. {Summoning resolution) I will. — Nina, 
you may tell my sister I prefer to see her here. 

Nina. {Significantly) Well— I'll tell her, Miss. 
{Exits upstairs) 

Violet. {Impulsively) Oh, Geoffrey, are you 
sure you'll not be sorry you took me? It's not too 
late yet to say so. You know I'm not half good 
enough for you. — I'm not — truly, truly, I'm not ! 

Geoffrey. Oh, Violet! What nonsense! It's 
me that's not half good enough for you. 

Violet. No, it's not ! It's me. 



84 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Geoffrey. No, it's me. 

Violet. It isn't. Hush — listen dear, I was just 
going to say something quite important. 

Geoffrey. Well. 

Violet. Oh, yes, well, this is what it was — don't 
you think it's a perfectly awful situation, — in a way? 

Geoffrey. No doubt about it at all. Won't the 
family raise — Hooray? But say, will you come out 
to New Mexico? 

Violet. The ranch? I'm dying to! — But oh, 
Delia will be furious ! 

Geoffrey. Suppose she is ! Remember you're 
free. That's what you said. 

Violet. Yes, Geoffrey and so I am. Only I don't 
know whether Adelaide quite realizes it. 

Adelaide. (Entering by stairs with a flash of 
controlled indignation) Violet, I understand that 
you wish to have me speak to you here, rather than 
in the privacy of our apartment. Well, so be it. 

Violet. (Vividly, breathlessly) I thought you 
ought to know — that Geoffrey has asked me to marry 
him, and I have said " Yes " ! 

Adelaide. (Staggered) What ! (To Geoffrey) 
Is this the Truth! 

Geoffrey. (Vigorously) You bet it's the truth! 
We're going to be married just as soon as we can 
get the license. 

(The tzvo youngsters face her defiantly, expecting 
a terrific rejoinder; but instead there is a gasp- 
ing pause, and then Adelaide breaks out with 
a perfect gale of laughter, incapable of restrain- 
ing herself. Violet and Geoffrey are finally 
caught up into this spasm of hilarity, though 
perfectly bewildered.) 

Adelaide. Ha, ha, ha ! — Oh, ho, ho ! — Ha, ha ! — 
Why ! — Oh, ho ! (Sitting, still shaken with cosmic 
mirth) 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 85 

Violet. (Much perplexed) Adelaide — What's 
the matter? 

Adelaide. (Gradually be corning coherent) Oh, 
nothing, nothing — why, but my dear little sister! 
Why, — why — did you never breathe a word of this 
before? 

Violet. Because I only knew it three minutes 
ago. 

Adelaide. (With sudden misgiving) It's ab- 
solutely settled. 

Geoffrey. Settled ! — Well I should say Yes ! 

Adelaide. (Coming betzveen them with the gentle 
benignance of a fairy godmother) Why, I'm very, 
very glad ! How blind I must have been not to see 
earlier that you two were divinely meant for each 
other ! Both so direct, so true-hearted, so — so — I 
mean to say — so idealistic ! But does anyone know 
of this? 

Geoffrey. No, you see — we — we sort of wanted 
to tell you first. 

Adelaide. My dear Geoffrey ! You have my 
very heartiest good wishes ! You take from me the 
dearest little sister in the world. (She touches 
Violet's hair tenderly) I cannot tell you what she 
has been to me in the past ; but I give her to you, — 
(And she joins their hands) — knowing that you, 
and you only, can make her truly happy ! But — but 
I suppose the others must be told at once. 

Violet. (With some reluctance) I suppose they 
must. 

Adelaide. My dear children, if you are willing 
to leave the responsibility in my hands. I shall be 
glad to explain to — Anthony. I think — yes, I think 
I can promise that he will change his attitude. 

Geoffrey. (Incredulous) Well, I can't say it 
sounds very easy. 

Adelaide. I know it; but in any event let me 
try. (To Violet) Trust me, dear. If I have 



86 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

erred in the past, — and who has not erred, some 
time? — it has not been through any lack of devotion 
to your welfare. Now that I see things in a clearer 
light, I want to do my best to rectify them. 

Geoffrey. (With boyish enthusiasm) Say, 
you're the kind of pal we're looking for just now. 

Adelaide. Well, you two go off for a little 
ramble together. Go and see the pigs. You won't 
object to that, surely, Violet, — not if this affair is 
only five minutes old ! (And she gently but firmly 
impels them toward the porch) 

Violet. (Going) Come on! (At door) But 
hew about the train? 

Adelaide. Don't worry. 

Geoffrey. Say, you know, I'm beginning to be- 
lieve in miracles. 

Adelaide. Faith for you, brother. — Works for 
me. (Geoffrey and Violet exit. Adelaide turns 
to Kitson who enters Left) Kitson, is there a 
newspaper reporter calling for me? 

Kitson. No, ma'am. 

Adelaide. I wired for one. Let me know when 
he arrives. 

Kitson. Yes, ma'am, and if I might presume to 
speak a word, Madam, — (He hesitates to continue, 
waiting for a sign of encouragement from her; but 
she is self-absorbed. After a silence he clears his 
throat and proceeds:) I thought it might not be 
amiss, if I was to observe to you, that for my part, 
I consider it a very rare privilege to have laid eyes 
on the Offspring of Old Jim Sayles, the Sufferer's 
Friend! (Again he waits for a response) And I 
may add, madam, that in my opinion you are the 
very image of your lamented Pa. 

Adelaide. (Bored) Thanks. 

Kitson. And that is why I thought it might be 
what they call a little crumb of comfort to you if I 
was to remark that, for my part, I've good reason 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 87 

to think it's you gets the best of the deal, in the 
long run. 

Adelaide. (Hardly interested, slightly irritated) 
I haven't the slightest idea what you mean by that, 
my good man, not the slightest. 

Kitson. (Approaching her with mysterious con- 
fidential manner) I suppose you think it's a great 
prize you lost, when you lost Mr. Anthony. 

Adelaide. (With a beginning of interest) You 
mean to say you know something detrimental to Mr. 
Anthony ? 

1 Kitson. If ever a whited sepulchre walked on 
two legs 

Adelaide. (Suddenly alert, domineering) You 
must tell me everything! 

Kitson. I cannot, madam. 

Adelaide. You must! Quickly! (She rises) 

Kitson. These lips are sealed. 

Adelaide. (Advancing upon him) Kitson! 
The daughter of Old Jim Sayles commands you to 
unseal them ! (She takes the attitude of a 
prophetess) 

Kitson. (Retreating from her. Deeply shaken) 
Eh ! What's that, madam ? 

Adelaide. Speak and speak quickly! (The 
weight and authority of a thousand bottles of Elixir 
are in her voice) 

Kitson. Er — er — er 

Adelaide. Do not keep me waiting! 

Kitson. (Stuttering with awe) Her name, 
madam, was Mamie Tanner 

Adelaide. (Noting the name to herself) Mamie 
Tanner. 

Kitson. And she lived over yonder, two miles 
from here, at a little place called Herring Grove. 

Adelaide. Herring Cove. Yes ! yes ! — she was 
in service here? Be quick! 

Kitson. (His mind beginning to go to pieces 



88 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

under her electrical domination) Well, no, not 
exactly as you might say in service, but every now 
and again, as the occasion might require, she would 
be coming here to do a bit of plain sewing or — 

(At this instant Adelaide becomes aware of the 
approach of Anthony who is now visible on 
porch, and very suavely and graciously she- 
observes:) 

Adelaide. Thank you, Kitson for a most appetiz- 
ing lunch. You know the art of tempting an in- 
different palate. 

Kitson. (Perceiving, with consternation, the 
cause of her changed manner) Eh, eh, that's all 
right, madam, I'm sure. (Exits with tray) 

Anthony. (Loftily) My aunt requests me to 
give you this time-table, fearing that you might not 
know the exact hour at which the train leaves. It 
leaves, you will observe, at 3 : 55. (He indicates the 
figure in the folder) 

Adelaide. (Charmingly) So very kind of Miss 
Rawson to think of it ! Everything is provided for 
our comfort ! 

Anthony. And if there is nothing else, — I will 
return at once to the family. (And he starts to do 
so) 

Adelaide. (Sweetly) Just one word ! I thought 
you might be interested to learn of Violet's engage- 
ment to your brother. 

Anthony. (Recoiling) What ! 

Adelaide. (Suavely) Yes, they are engaged. 

Anthony. I do not believe it ! 

Adelaide. As you choose. 

Anthony. (Furiously) No! We are done with 
the whole pack of you ! Imposters ! Parvenues ! 

Adelaide. (Smilingly) And the rest! I dimly 
recall the list ! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 89 

Anthony. Ten times the list would fall short of 
the truth ! 

Adelaide. (Blandly) I will multiply it by ten, 
mentally, and let it go at that ! 

Anthony. Then you see how fortunate you are 
to get away with a whole skin. 

Adelaide. I thought you had skinned us quite 
effectually, just new. 

Anthony. Well then — skin for skin! (Going) 

Adelaide. (Stops him with a glitter) So be it ! 
Wait ! One little moment, — if you please ! 

Anthony. (Impatiently) What else? 

Adelaide. (Sweetly) Well, suppose — just sup- 
pose I say — a purely hypothetical case — of course — 
but suppose I should happen to possess certain facts 
■ — oh, very slight, trivial facts, of course 

A_nthony. (Loftily) Are you threatening me? 

Adelaide. Oh, my dear young man, you go too 
fast! 

Anthony. What are your threats? 

Adelaide. Your — private life — invites the mi- 
croscope ? 

Anthony. (Sternly) What do you mean by 
that? 

Adelaide. (Almost toyingly) There are no flaws 
in the perfect crystal of your character? Not even 
a flyspeck? 

Anthony. Insinuations ! — Give us facts ! 

Adelaide. (Crisply) What about Nina? 

Anthony. Nina ? 

Adelaide. (Bluntly) Yes, Nina! Would you 
like it reported that this very morning, while the 
young lady to whom you were engaged was out of 
the house, you were hugging and kissing the house- 
maid? 

Anthony. I deny it — flatly ! 

Adelaide. (Musingly) I see — even though Nina 
might corroborate me in every detail. 



90 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Anthony. Witness of a servant ! Oh, even in 
America servants may be bribed ! (Completely self- 
possessed) So that is your artillery, Mrs. Bump- 
stead-Leigh ! Well, I very much fear you will have 
to fire again ! 

Adelaide. Very well, since you invite the fire 
you shall have it. I was hoping it might not be 
necessary, because I do hate blood. 

Anthony. (Halting — bat attempting to seem 
confident) What is it? 

Adelaide. I will tell you a story. By the shore 
of a little inlet from the sea, — oh, on the other side 
of the world, of course — clusters a tiny group of 
fishermen's houses — poor — weather-beaten habita- 
tions — known in the district as — as Herring Cove ! — 

Anthony. (Sinking to chair) Herring Cove ! 

Adelaide. Oh, why carry this wretched story 
further? (With impassioned mariner) Is there 
in all the world a more contemptible figure than 
that of the man who sits in the ancestral pew on the 
Sabbath Day, smug, pious as a Pharisee, and on 
Monday, when no one is looking, takes advantage of 
the ignorance and weakness of poor innocent young 
girls! (Denoiincingly) Yes, it is of you I am 
speaking, of you, the pride of your father, the apple 
of your Aunt Abigail's eye — hypocrite ! Scoundrel ! 
Betrayer of poor Mamie Tanner ! (Her emotions 
are noiv permitted to overcome her. She chokes 
and quivers) 

Anthony. (Trying to hold his own, but scarcely 
able to speak for confusion) Mamie Tanner — she 
knew a thing or two ! 

Adelaide. (Ignoring) The world needs more 
such men ! The race of psalm-singers needs 
recruits ! When I tell the story of Mamie Tanner 
to your father, as duty bids me to do 

Anthony. (Stricken) You will not do it! 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 91 

Adelaide. (Seeming immensely moved) I will 
— poor girl — My duty ! My duty ! 

Anthony. (Collapsing) Name your terms, I 
accept them. 

Adelaide. (Dropping into a chair, fanning her- 
self with the time-table) My goodness, if you'd 
only said that five minutes ago, you'd have saved me 
a lot of hard work ! On a hot day, too ! Well, the 
terms are very simple. (Succinctly as a general 
naming terms of capitulation) First, you will per- 
suade your father and aunt to accept the present 
situation. Second, you will secure an urgent invita- 
tion for us to stay out our visit here. Third, you 
will have business in town that will take you off 
the field of operations by the afternoon express — ■ 
(She shows him the time-table with precise care) 
— which, " you will observe " leaves at 3 : 55. 

Anthony. (Cowering) Impossible! Impos- 
sible ! Thev will never accept you. I am certain to 
fail. 

Adelaide. You fail ! You, the idol ! — never ! 
Wag your head, — that settles it ! 

Anthony. You do not know them. They are 
adamant. 

Adelaide. There is the telephone. Suppose you 
ask them to come over. 

Anthony. It's outrageous. I shall do nothing 
of the sort ! (But in spite of his zvords he goes to 
the telephone) This is nothing less than black- 
mail ! 

Adelaide. The happiness of one I love is at 
stake. 

Anthony. (At 'phone) Mrs. Leavitt? This 
is Anthony. Would you be so kind as to ask my 
father and Aunt Abigail to come over for a few 
minutes? Yes, thank you very much. I'll explain 
everything later. (Hangs up receiver) 



92 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. (To Kitson who has just entered 
from study with card tray) For me, Kitson? 

Kitson. For you, madam. (Presenting card) 
The gentleman from the newspaper. 

Adelaide. Ah, yes, The Evening Chronicle. — 
Ask him to wait. (Exit Kitson) 

Anthony. What's this new trick? 

Adelaide. Trick? — Why, I don't understand 
you. 

Anthony. What do you mean by having a news- 
paper man in this house? 

Adelaide. My dear Anthony, you think too 
harshly of newspaper men. Some of them are per- 
fectly respectable persons, 

Anthony. You are planning something against 
us : that's the long and short of it. 

Adelaide. Dear Brother, you have nothing to 
fear so long as you do precisely what I direct. And 
now I think you'd better go and meet your ancestors ! 
— Prepare their minds as gently and tactfully as you 
can. And I shall be waiting here. (Exit Anthony) 

(Adelaide is about to seat herself at table Right 
for writing when Nina enters Left.) 

Nina. Madam ! 

Adelaide. Well, Nina? 

Nina. (Eagerly, mysteriously) I couldn't tell 
you very well while Mrs. de Salle was around up- 
stairs. It's something private. 

Adelaide. (Delaying her writing to listen) 
Something private, my girl? 

Nina. Yes, madam, I thought perhaps it was 
something I'd ought to tell you. 

Adelaide. I like your strong sense of duty, Nina ; 
but I must ask you to make haste. 

Nina. Thank you, madam. After the way you 
treated me this morning, I'm certainly glad if I can 
return the favor. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 93 

Adelaide. Well ! Proceed ! 

Nina. It's something I heard, madam. 

Adelaide. Yes, yes. 

Nina. Not anything so very much in a way ; 
only I was pretty sure it would lead on to something, 
you know, if anybody could follow it up. 

Adelaide. Yes, yes, I understand perfectly. Go 
on — go on — Nina ! 

Nina. It was about Mr. Anthony! 

Adelaide. Mr. Anthony — more about Mr. 
Anthony? — and what about Mr. Anthony — this 
time? 

Nina. Well, Mr. Kitson was telling me there 
was this girl named Mamie Tanner, or something 
like that. 

Adelaide. Mamie Tanner. Yes, to be sure, and 
what about Mamie Tanner? 

Nina. Well, that's just it, ma'am. 

Adelaide. Yes, yes. That's just it. Tell me, go 
on, my good girl ! 

Nina. I can't tell any more. 

Adelaide. (With sudden change of manner) 
You mean to say that's all you know? 

Nina. That's all I could get out of Mr. Kitson. 

Adelaide. (Almost sharply) All you know is 
there was a girl named Mamie Tanner? 

Nina. He wouldn't say one single solita/y word 
more, though I pled with him to beat the band. 

Adelaide. You mean to tell me then that all you 
know is there was a girl named Mamie Tanner? 

Nina. (Crestfallen) Yes, Madam. Oh, but I'm 
quite positive it must have been something very — 
very — disreputable. 

Adelaide. Disreputable ! Oh ! (Her manner 
suddenly becomes tender and reproachful) My 
good girl, if you think that under any circumstances 
whatever I could have the least wish to listen to 
scandal, you have made a very grave blunder in- 



94 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

deed ! I make it a rule always to believe the best 
of everybody. 

Nina. But I thought, ma'am, you kind of sug- 
gested to me this morning I was to tell you things. 
And after what they said to you 

Adelaide. {With almost martyr patience) If 
I have been made to suffer unjustly, Nina, I try to 
bear it uncomplainingly, with patience and fortitude. 
And if my words can have any influence with you, 
my dear girl, remember in the future, when you are 
tempted to hear or to repeat any unkind thing that 
may be said of another, it is better, it is truer, it is 
more Christian, to have nothing whatever to do with 
it. — Wait a minute! (Nina who is about to go, 
halts) Unless, I mean to say, it is something, oh 
quite definite and explicit! 

Nina. Yes, ma'am. (Exits meekly) 

Adelaide. (Breaking into a laugh as she begins 
writing) " The engagement is announced " 

Mrs. de Salle. (Entering perturbedly by stairs) 
Oh, Dell, Dell — what you doin' down here ! and not 
half our duds packed ! 

Adelaide. Hush ! Can't you see I'm busy ! 

Mrs. de Salle. But it's less than an hour to 
train time. 

Adelaide. (Occupied with her writing) Ma, 
I'm at the crisis of my career. Can't twiddle about 
trains. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Baffled and desperate) But 
we're chucked ! 

Adelaide. That's why I'm busy. Coin' to be a 
sequel to this story ! 

Mrs. de Salle. Whatever d'ye mean, Dell? 

Adelaide. (Still writing) Ma, if I can only 
play the game right for about ten minutes more, 
we can go home and riddle Lady Fitzhugh's old 
gas balloon so full of holes it'll never go up again. 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 95 

Mrs. de Salle. (With Ho osier amazement) 
How you ever goin' to do that? 

Adelaide. Haven't an idea ; but I'm goin' to do 
it. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Momentously) Dell. 

Adelaide. Well, Ma? 

Mrs. de Salle. You ken say what ye like about 
your pa; but you're your pa through and through. 

Adelaide. (Rising good-hnmoredly and impell- 
ing her mother towards the stairs) And now you 
run along upstairs, like a good little mother, and 
put yourself in cold storage till wanted. 

Mrs. de Salle. (Faintly protesting) Dell, I'm 
all topsy-turvy ! 

Adelaide. Haven't time to set you right side up ! 
Go on upstairs, Ma, and do exactly as you're told ! 

Mrs. de Salle. (Mounting stairs) I've never 
had a chanst to do anything else. (Exits) 

(Enter on porch Anthony, Justin, Miss Rawson. 
Adelaide stands unobtrusively at one side.) 

Justin. (Still outside) No, I say. No! No! 
It is impossible ! Outrageous ! I shall never give 
my consent! (They enter the room) If Geoffrey 
persists in tying himself up with this disreputable 
patent-medicine crowd, everything is at ana end be- 
tween him and his family. 

Miss Rawson. (Coming down Left with iron- 
clad dignity) Yes, absolutely at an end. 

Justin. Five generations of Rawsons turn in 
their graves at the very mention of such an in- 
famous alliance. 

Anthony. But, my dear father, at least I have 
a right to be heard in my brother's defense. 

Justin. Anthony, you are out of your head. 
You're mad ! 

Miss Rawson. (With immense authority) Re- 



96 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

member, Justin, it is Anthony ! However prepos- 
terous his request he shall have a hearing. (And 
she sits, forcing herself to listen to an unwelcome 
argument) 

Justin. (Espying Adelaide down Right) May 
I beg that we be left alone? 

Anthony. I have asked Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh 
to be present. 

Justin. This is too much! (And he turns on 
Adelaide comniandingly) Madam, permit me to 
apprize you, for the last time, that your empire in 
this house is at an end. 

Adelaide. You are very explicit, Mr. Rawson. 
But suppose — (Drawing near Anthony) — suppose 
there should be means at hand whereby I could re- 
gain it. 

Anthony. (Terrorized) Er — er — first of all, 
let me speak. Let us try to consider the situation 
dispassionately, reasonably. 

Justin. Reasonably ! Reasonably ! Pah ! 

Anthony. Yes. What actual injury have we 
received from the de Salles? Family is something, 
I admit 

Miss Rawson. The Main thing ! 

Justin. They lied to us from the start. 

Adelaide. Ah, my dear Mr. Rawson, but that is 
just what we did not do. We were silent — nothing 
more. Would you have had me wear a label on my 
bosom — " Daughter of Old Jim Sayles." — Would 
you, I ask? Would you? 

Miss Rawson. Yes, I would! And a very good 
thing for everybody. 

Adelaide. How ? In what way ? Tell me, what 
relation can be found between a past that has been 
put behind me forever, and a present which I have 
created for myslf, by sheer force of will — against 
every possible obstacle? What, I ask, is the one 
great, superb, inspiring thing in your vaunted 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 97 

American idea? Lincoln was born in a little poor 
log cabin. Would you, for that reason, have turned 
him from your doors ? {Secretly punches Anthony 
into action) 

Anthony. Yes, yes — her argument is sound. 
It deserves attention. 

Justin. Anthony, you are too soft-hearted. 

Anthony. You will not refuse to listen? 

Miss Rawson. {Rising to go) I have listened 
quite long enough to the adventuress from' Mis- 
sionary Loop, Indiana! Words may varnish facts, 
they cannot alter them. 

Adelaide. {Positively) Well, for my part, I 
have no wish to alter them. I am tired, tired of 
tacking with every shift of the wind. I am tired 
of apologizing for a course of action which in my 
heart I am proud of. Henceforth the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth ! I will make 
my appeal to the American people. {And she takes 
a step tozvards the study) 

Justin. {Amazed) What does the woman mean ! 

Adelaide. {Facing him) There is a newspaper 
representative in this house at the present moment. 
He comes from the Evening Chronicle. I am going 
to tell him the whole story of the Sayles Family to 
date — omitting nothing! Everything from Mis- 
sionary Loop to Trumpington-on-Swell ! And the 
American people will judge between us ! You, with 
your hidebound, moth-eaten conservatism 

Justin. {Dropping into chair) In the papers ! 
The whole story! 

Adelaide. Yes. {Takes another step tozvards 
study) 

Miss Rawson. {Distracted) Stop her! Stop 
her! 

Adelaide. Why should I spare your feelings? 
Have you spared mine? {Takes still another step 
toward the fatal door) 



98 MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Justin. (Following her) Wait, madam ! Wait ! 
In heaven's name ! 

Adelaide. / have nothing to fear from publicity. 
The papers will vindicate me. (Another step) 

Miss Rawson. (Stifling) In the papers! Oh! 

Anthony. (To his Aunt) We must yield to 
her. 

Adelaide. (At the study door with rapture) 
Henceforth I live in the Daylight ! (Reaching for 
the knob) 

Justin. Will you turn a deaf ear to the prayers 
of the oldest living Rawson? 

Adelaide. (Reaching again for the knob) Is it 
likely that her prayers would move me ! 

Miss Rawson. (Coining to her — supplicatingly) 
Oh, listen to us ! Listen to us ! 

Adelaide. (Reaching again for the knob) Listen 
to you, Madam? (Turns the knob) 

Miss Rawson. Whatever we have done, don't 
bring this awful disgrace upon us ! 

Justin. Won't you listen, Madam? (Pause) 

Adelaide. (After an apparent struggle) Am I 
perhaps thinking too much of my own happiness? 
(She crosses the room thoughtfully) Could I ever 
know one moment of peace at the price of another's 
misery ? 

Miss Rawson. We will accept your sister. 
Violet and Geoffrey shall have our blessing. 

Justin. Anything! Anything! Madam! 

(Adelaide turns and surveys the three, who stand 
in an imploring group exactly zvliere she stood 
with her family, at the moment of exposure.) 

Adelaide. (Seeming to master herself. — Coming 
to them tenderly) For your sake, for yours, for 
Anthony's sake, for the sake of that little sister 
whom I love and cherish more dearly than anyone 



MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 99 

else in the world, I will yield ! (Sits with exhausted 
manner; but if you look closely you might detect 
a triumphant glitter in her eye) 

Miss Rawson. You are very kind ! (Drops into 
chair by table, Right) 

Adelaide. Once more I consent to the shackles. 
I promise to hold my peace. Anthony, dear, there 
is a little announcement of the engagement. Kindly 
take it to the reporter. (Anthony exits, Right. 
Adelaide goes up to porch door and looks out) 
And now — (She zvaves handkerchief) I want you 
to tell Violet and Geoffrey just how you feel toward 
them. I sent them out to play in the barnyard, the 
dears. There they are! (Calling) Come, Violet! 
Hurry ! — Hurry ! 

Justin. (To Miss Rawson) There's no help! 
We must put the best face on it. 

Miss Rawson. But I shall be a Rawson, Justin, 
to the last ! 

Adelaide. (To Violet ivho is coming with Geof- 
frey on porch) Miss Rawson is waiting to give 
you her blessing, dear ! 

(Enter Violet and Geoffrey.) 

Violet. Oh ! it's too good to be true ! 

Adelaide. (Half audibly) Too good to be true ! 
Yes, it is — almost! (Scats herself with sigh) That 
was a dickens of a close call ! 

Justin. (Forcing himself to carry out the letter 
of his promise) Geoffrey, my boy, I congratulate 
you! 

Miss Rawson. (Equally conscientious and un- 
happy) Violet, my dear, I am so very glad! 

Violet. (Radiantly) Oh, I can hardly believe 
it! 

Miss Rawson. Anthony has explained every- 
thing. We hope you will be very, very happy — in 
New Mexico ! 



lllllBi ARY 0F conq Ress 
018 360 073 J t 

ioo MRS. BUMPSTEAD-LEIGH 

Adelaide. (Wiping her eyes) The dears! 

(Geoffrey summons Violet up to door with a 
gesture. They stand there, amused, puzzled, 
happy. With a final effort of self-mastery, 
Miss Rawson turns to Adelaide. Her manner 
conforms to necessity ; but her voice is undis- 
guisedly hostile.) 

Miss Rawson. Dear Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh, 
may we not hope that you will remain with us an- 
other week ? — Do consent ! 

Adelaide. Dear Miss Rawson, you are very kind. 
I do wish that it might be possible. But I scarcely 
know what is best. 

Justin. (Icily, from across the room) Let me 
add my entreaties, Mrs. Bumpstead-Leigh. The 
house would seem quite empty without you ! 

Adelaide. (Sweetly) I think — indeed, I am all 
but certain, we can manage it — at least for a day 
or two. But, of course, you will permit me, before 
giving a definite response, to consult mamma. (She 
seems to be going at once) Mamma, dear! 
Mamma ! 

(Exchanging one last significant look with Justin, 
Miss Rawson sinks into a chair.) 

Curtain 



9fS 3537 

.m turns 

19/7 



3531 
1/7 



